Tears for Fears
by ML Only
Summary: Max is worried for Logan's safety. Season 1, before Art Attack, Complete. Final 2 chapters now posted
1. Default Chapter

Title: Tears for Fears.  
  
Setting: Series One, post 'Red.'  
  
Disclaimer: No I don't own Dark Angel, I just like write about  
  
It didn't always rain in Seattle: some days it was positively peachy – or so Max thought as she entered the foyer of Logan's apartment building, Fogle Towers.  
  
"I wonder what Logan's up to?" she wondered. "Probably sitting at his computer. Now, if I could just get him to lighten up a bit – he may even start enjoying life."  
  
For an instant her mind ran off on a tangent, and conjured up several ways she'd 'like' to enjoy herself with Logan.  
  
"Whoa," she suddenly thought, with a quick decisive shake of her head, "Don't even 'start' to go there Max. You and Logan aren't even like that!"  
  
Why was it then, a small voice inside her asked, that try as she would, she couldn't forget the feel of his lips on hers in that one desperate kiss outside his Uncle's cabin? Why was it that the memory of it popped up in her other wise genetically organized mind with amazing regularity?  
  
Even now, the thought of that bittersweet moment brought a small, pleased, secret smile to her eyes and a slight flush to her cheeks.  
  
"Well, you look like the cat that swallowed the canary."  
  
She'd been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't realized the lift doors had opened. She brought her gaze back to the present, and was annoyed to find her heart rate had gone up a notch. Why did those green eyes behind the small glasses and that wide generous grin he had when he was really pleased, affect her that way?  
  
She reflected quickly that it was hard to remain cool when the man you're fantasizing about suddenly appears in front of you.  
  
"Hey," she managed to say.  
  
"Hey to you too," he smiled back at her. Trying hard to remain focused, Max wondered why it had to be 'that' particular smile again.  
  
Pushing through the lift doors, Logan stopped in front of her. "You all right – cause you seem a bit distracted?"  
  
"No. I had a drop to do ... close by ... so ... I though I'd ... you know ... drop by." It was a casual, airy reply. Quite good under the circumstances she thought desperately.  
  
She gave him her cheesy smile.  
  
"Excuse me," a voice said close at hand.  
  
Someone stepped between them and Logan wheeled back a little to let the man pass. "I was just heading down to the market to get a few things. You wanna come?"  
  
Max gave him an appraising look. "Drivin' or wheelin'?" she asked.  
  
Logan returned her look. "On a day like this? Wheeling ... definitely."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I'll even buy you an ice cream."  
  
"Triple choc?"  
  
"Absolutely. Spare no expense!"  
  
***************************************************  
  
The sidewalks were always busy in post pulse Seattle - too few people owned cars.  
  
As Max slowed her usual breakneck speed to match Logan, she found it hard to keep the smile off her face; when Logan was happy, you'd have to go a long way to find better company.  
  
"You've got that look again." Logan looked up at her suspiciously.  
  
Max breathed deeply. "You know, when it's sunny, the world really 'does' seem a nicer place."  
  
Logan smiled at her again. He didn't even have to try too hard to bite back the barbed comment he could have made about vipers that brood in the shadows. No, they'd shared enough bleak moments together. Today, for a change, he'd let it rest. Bling would be proud of him.  
  
"Now who's swallowed the canary?" taunted Max.  
  
Logan grinned. "Mmmm, it tastes remarkably good, too."  
  
They were almost to the entrance of the market by this time and the sidewalk became even more crowded. Here lived the teeming masses of post- pulse Seattle: the prostitutes, drug addicts, thieves, con men, murderers, and amongst all the dirt, the innocents - the ones Logan was so desperate to protect – trying to live their lives, feed their children, and all the while hold on to a dream that someday the world would be a better place.  
  
An old lady, grey haired, withered, held out a plate to Logan as he went by. Max watched as Logan stopped and took out some money, but instead of putting it on the plate, he took her hand and pressed the money into her palm, and then closed her fingers around it to ensure it would not blow away.  
  
"It's beautiful and sunny today Maude," he greeted her.  
  
"Praise God!" she rasped back. "Another day of rain and I was going to turn Presbyterian!"  
  
The cynic in Max told her that he was a sucker – a soft touch for a sad story. Perhaps he was. She thought back to when she'd found him staring fixedly at the tape of Nathan Herrero's daughter. "Will you help me?" the girl had begged. He hadn't been able to resist that plea.  
  
Logan moved on, but they were jostled by another three beggars before they'd reached the market's entrance. This time Logan just tossed a couple of coins into each ones cup or cap.  
  
"Do you give to all the beggars? I bet half of them are conmen!"  
  
Logan acknowledged her words ruefully. "You're probably right, maybe even more than half are conmen, but if I stopped giving to all of them on that basis, the probably smaller percentage of people who are genuinely in desperate need, would miss out."  
  
He stopped for a minute to let someone pass in front and then looking up at her he finished with a sincerity in his eyes that he couldn't hide, "Why let evil triumph all the time? I have the means to give a little to many. Maybe at least one child sleeps easier at night with a little more food in their stomach because of my few dollars."  
  
"Logan Cale, you are one of a dying breed."  
  
Logan shrugged a little self- consciously at her words, and continued to push through the crowds. There had been a warmth in her words – he had an idea that was her idea of a compliment. Yes, there was a lot to be said for a sunny day.  
  
Just at that moment, yet another man approached Logan with the ubiquitous cup in hand. Max watched, a little bored to see their progress halted yet again. Did Logan have to give to all of them?  
  
Suddenly, something in the man's demeanor made Max's 'early warning signals' start to sound.  
  
The man was quite tall, and looked to be well built beneath his shabby clothes. A baseball hat was pushed down low ever his eyes. His clothes were dirty and ragged, but it was his shoes that caught Max's attention. How many beggars wore hand made Italian loafers?  
  
Logan obviously wasn't too interested in the man. He'd simply grabbed a handful of coins from his pocket and tossed them casually in the man's cup. Max saw the man look at the coins, and then he took another step closer to Logan  
  
Max felt a fury erupt inside her. Her hand shot out and grabbed the "beggars" arm in a vice-like grip. With her own face inches from his pained and startled expression, she hissed, "You go near him and you're a dead man!"  
  
The beggar took one look at that beautiful face filled with deadly intent and immediately quavered, "Hey, I didn't mean anything lady. A man's just trying to make a livin'."  
  
"Yeah. Well do it somewhere else!"  
  
The man slunk off without so much as a backward glance.  
  
Max was surprised to find she was tense – taut as though prepared for battle. With a long breath she forced herself to relax.  
  
Logan had bemusedly watched the whole exchange, and couldn't decide now whether to be annoyed, amused or angry. "Just what was that all about?'  
  
Max looked at Logan.  
  
How could she explain to Logan the inescapable sense of dread that had swept over her as she saw the man step towards Logan? She didn't even understand it herself; all she knew was that she had to protect him. So strong had the sensation been, that now she felt drained, not unlike the aftermath of one of her seizures. Damn – she couldn't tell Logan this.  
  
"Are you all right Max?" she heard him asking, with a hint of anxiety in his voice.  
  
"Do you know that man Logan? Have you seen him before?"  
  
Surprised by the intensity of her look, and the grim tone of her voice, Logan replied, "I don't think I've ever seen him before ... Max, what is it?"  
  
Max scanned their immediate vicinity. Of the man there was no sight, but where had her carefree, sunny day gone? The sun still shone in the sky, but all she could see were the shadows and she wondered what dangers to Logan lurked there? Damn, he was too vulnerable in the chair. A cold, icy hand seemed to grip her heart as she remembered how easy it had been for Gerhardt Bronck's men to capture him.  
  
"Max." Logan was beginning to sound annoyed.  
  
"Let's go home," she replied quickly.  
  
"We haven't even done my shopping." Logan was definitely sounding annoyed now.  
  
"Okay, okay," she tried to placate him. "Let's do it then. What do you need?"  
  
Logan, for his part, was disappointed to say the least, in her sudden change of attitude. It felt as though the sky had clouded over for him as well.  
  
Full of conflicting emotions, and with a grim face, he purchased the few things he needed, and headed back to the apartment.  
  
Max felt a stab of guilt as she stole a look at his profile. It all seemed so silly now. How had she come to overreact like that and ruin what had been a perfect day?  
  
By this time they were back at Fogle Towers and Logan held his hand out for the bag of vegetables she'd been carrying.  
  
With a mere flick of a glance in her direction he said, "Well, I'll see ya." She was being dismissed.  
  
Instead, Max held them just out of his reach, and with her most disarming smile said coyly, "Peace offering?"  
  
With his head to one side, Logan regarded her appraisingly. He could feel some of his anger towards her start to melt away. It was hard to resist that look.  
  
"Well, seeing as how I gotta rush back to work an all," (which wasn't quite the truth, but she had absolutely no intention of admitting her fears), "and the weather's meant to stay nice until tomorrow night, how's about a picnic tomorrow lunchtime, in the park?"  
  
Logan still had no idea what had bothered her, but it was obvious that she was keen to 'make up.' This was a nice change.  
  
He let a slow smile spread across his face. "Okay." This time she held the bag closer. Reaching out he took it, and placed it on his knees.  
  
"I'll give you a buzz tomorrow when I can get away."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"See ya."  
  
Grabbing her bike from where she'd left it, she rode off.  
  
Logan watched her disappear into the crowds – just the hint of a smile lingering on his lips.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
The rest of the day passed slowly for Max. She felt a restlessness in herself that she couldn't put a finger on. She knew she wasn't in heat, yet somehow she felt like a cat on the prowl, with her senses heightened for danger.  
  
She thought she'd shaken off her worries of lunchtime, but try as she would, the image of the beggar approaching Logan, and that same gut- wrenching desire to protect him, was replayed in her mind, time and time again.  
  
She could tell that Original Cindy was trying to figure what was up, so rather than face her, she took off at the end of the day with a "Gotta fly."  
  
"You hangin' out at Crash tonight, Boo?" had been Original Cindy's parting words.  
  
"Nah, got a thing to do."  
  
"Hangin' out with your squeeze?" she asked knowingly.  
  
Max just gave her a look, and sped off. Original Cindy was nothing if not persistent.  
  
Riding home in the last rays of the sun, she stopped off only to change into her black catsuit, and grab her Ninja, then headed purposefully in the direction of Logan's apartment building.  
  
However, instead of waltzing up to Logan's penthouse, she took up a position across the road from the building. It was dark by now, and the bushes on the outskirt of the park provided her with cover and an uninterrupted view of the front doors of the building.  
  
The evening was clear, but cold. More than once she asked herself: "Max, what the hell are you doing?" Annoyingly, at the thought of leaving, the restlessness returned, and she knew she had to stay.  
  
Max looked up to where the penthouse was. She wondered what Logan was doing. She felt glad that they'd parted on good terms. He had enough dramas in his life, without her being a drama queen as well. With a rueful grin she thought of Zack, and what he would say if he could see her now.  
  
A familiar rumbling in her stomach told her that it was well past dinnertime. 'Dinner time' – the word conjured up past images of evenings spent with Logan. She sighed. "You're so whacked girl - this is crazy."  
  
Around nine pm she saw Bling leaving the building and Max smiled inwardly, wondering what his day had been like. Was Logan a good boy for you, or cranky and impatient, doing the spoilt rich kid routine?  
  
She had to admire Bling's patience. It was more than patience she mused – the man had a wonderful empathy for Logan, and probably put up with a lot more crap from him than even she knew about, while at the same time he walked a fine line in refusing to let Logan wallow in self-pity.  
  
Bling's understanding sometimes left her feeling inadequate. She could kick the ass of the strongest man in town, and hardly raise a sweat doing it, but she struggled to understand the demons that confronted Logan. Not that Logan helped any – Mr. Eyes Only, I can do everything by myself, and never show any sign of human weakness! What a frustrating, maddening, fascinating ...  
  
Just then, a movement caught her eye. A man was crossing the road directly opposite the entrance to Fogle Towers. To Max, with her extraordinary eyesight, he was easily discernible - right down to his Italian loafers.  
  
There was that feeling again, but this time she clamped down on her emotions, and concentrated solely on the job at hand. She saw her quarry glance furtively about, then head to the entrance foyer. It was hardly a coincidence that he appeared almost immediately Bling had left.  
  
Max waited until he'd entered, then slipped across herself and followed him inside. By the time she'd entered, he was already coming out of the bottom lift.  
  
"Lost your security pass?" she enquired sweetly. "Or maybe this is just a little up-market for you?"  
  
The 'beggar' stood in the dim light of the foyer, looking at her. Gone now was the baseball cap and dirty clothing. Instead he was now dressed in a quality suit, and smelt of expensive cologne. Gone also was the scared look and wheedling tone of lunchtime. He didn't appear at all disconcerted to be found at the lift door.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" he asked in a cultured tone. "Have we met?"  
  
Max studied him for a long moment. The voice and clothes were different, but the feeling of revulsion that swept over her was the same. It was the eyes that gave him away. Logan had green eyes, but his were a deep green, sometimes almost blue in a certain light. She had rarely seen eyes like this man's – they were an unusual pale green, but more than that was the complete lack of warmth to be found in their depths. Here was a ruthless, calculating man.  
  
As she was about to reply, the entrance door opened again, and two couples walked in together, one of them with a small dog on a lead. For some reason, and she wondered later if it was her feline DNA, the dog took immediate exception to her, and rushed at her, barking furiously. Max stepped back out of instinct, not fear as it bared its teeth at her. In that split second, the intruder dashed in the opposite direction, and out the side door of the building.  
  
Cursing the stupidity of the dog, and herself, she dove after him, only to be stopped short by a car whizzing along the road in front of her at high speed. Of the 'beggar' there was no sign.  
  
"Great!" she muttered darkly.  
  
*********************************************************  
  
"Logan. You still up?" Max called as she wandered in.  
  
She loved the ambience of his penthouse at night, the discreet lighting reflected in the polished floorboards, and there was usually the alluring aroma of a Cale masterpiece from the kitchen.  
  
Logan came round the corner from his computer.  
  
"Is it too late for a visit?" smiled Max. 'He looks pleased to see me,' she thought.  
  
"Whatcha been doin'?" she asked.  
  
"Oh you know, nothing important, just trying to save the world."  
  
He wheeled back to his computer as he spoke, and, a little too innocently, or so Max thought, stuffed some letters that had been sitting on the desk, into the drawer.  
  
"So," he said, swinging back around to her, "I thought you were busy tonight."  
  
Did he sound a little suspicious? Sometimes he could put an edge to his words that made them sound like an interrogation.  
  
Max shrugged and walked through to the living room. "I was just cruising ... landed here," she finished almost seductively.  
  
She looked at Logan to see the effect of her words. He seemed happy enough. Mmm, he smelled good too, even if there was no dinner. He looked like he was straight from the shower. She noticed that his feet were bare.  
  
'You'll get cold toeys."  
  
He looked down at his feet and shrugged, then looking back at her asked, "You had dinner? I've got some leftovers in the fridge."  
  
"Thought you'd never ask," she grinned.  
  
Max studied his retreating back for a moment, trying to gauge his mood, as Logan turned and headed for the kitchen. Sometimes he could be very hard to read. She hoped that the offer of the picnic had extinguished his earlier irritation with her. Just how was she going to get an invite to stay the night without raising his suspicions?  
  
She had no intention of leaving him in the penthouse, alone at night, with 'snake eyes' out and about.  
  
For the hundredth time she asked herself who was he, and why was he lurking around Logan. More importantly, why did he creep her out so much? At Manticore they were trained to react to facts, not feelings. Once again she could imagine Zack's disgust with her if he knew.  
  
"Max, you want some pasta?"  
  
Snapping out of her reverie, she sauntered into the kitchen.  
  
Logan had put out a plate of spaghetti bolognaise for her and next to it was a bowl of salad.  
  
"Did you make two serves, or didn't you eat?" she asked him suspiciously.  
  
"I didn't feel like it – I ate something else."  
  
Deftly changing the subject he asked, "Would you like some wine with it?"  
  
With a raised eyebrow she noted how he rubbed the back of his head as he spoke – a sure sign he was dissembling, but she let it go, wondering how many meals he missed when he was obsessed with an Eyes Only cause.  
  
"Only if you've got something open. Just a small glass will do." She wanted to ensure she had a clear head for the evening.  
  
"I'm pretty sure I can find something."  
  
This time he smiled at her with his genuine smile. Max was relieved. So far so good - walking on eggshells was not her favorite occupation.  
  
Logan set Max up on the dining table, then disappeared into his bedroom, saying he had a few things to do.  
  
Max ate her dinner slowly, her mind going over the day's events. Should she mention the man downstairs to Logan? She suspected that if she did, he would send her packing, his male ego offended by the idea of her as a bodyguard. She certainly didn't thrill to the idea of standing watch outside as she had done earlier, when she could be inside with him. 'Men' – you had to tread delicately where their male egos were concerned.  
  
When Logan came back she noticed he'd put on some socks, and a sweater over his T-shirt.  
  
Seeing him in bare feet had been a stark reminder of the lack of mobility in his lower body. It was odd to see feet so still.  
  
With a sudden stab of intense anger she thought of Bruno Anselmo. Dirt bag! A very dead dirt bag she reflected with satisfaction.  
  
"I hope that's not me you're thinking of," Logan's voice cut into her thoughts.  
  
Not realizing she'd been so transparent, she briefly wondered if she should admit it was Bruno she'd been thinking of. It might lead to awkward questions, and Logan's mood changes were legendary if you inadvertently said the wrong thing.  
  
"Just a creep I came across today at work – No big dealio."  
  
"You looked like you'd like to hang, draw and quarter him; not necessarily in that order," he commented quizzically.  
  
'Nah. This turkey got what he deserved."  
  
'Did he?' she wondered to herself as she looked at Logan sitting in his wheelchair. 'Perhaps a bullet in the heart had been too quick and easy for him.'  
  
"Anyway," she turned to him enticingly, hoping to lighten her mood, "Do you feel up to another crushing defeat at chess?"  
  
"Pride goeth before a fall!" he quoted at her, wheeling himself effortlessly into the living area where they played.  
  
***********************************************************  
  
"Are you a glutton for punishment, or have you had enough?"  
  
It was four games to 1 – Max's way of course, and Logan was frankly pleased to have won one game.  
  
Stifling a yawn, Logan asked "Are you up for another?"  
  
"I hate to see a grown man cry. Is it late?"  
  
Logan looked at his watch.  
  
"That depends on how you look at it. It's either very late, or very early."  
  
"Mind if I crash here in the guest room? I don't fancy putting up with the sector police tonight."  
  
"Sure."  
  
Max breathed an inward sigh of relief, glad it had been so easy.  
  
"Are you going to bed now?" she asked.  
  
Logan motioned towards his computer. "I've still got a little work to do."  
  
She refrained from telling him that he looked tired, and surely it could wait until morning.  
  
"Okay. Night."  
  
"Goodnight." He smiled back, but as she walked away she saw him take off his glasses and rub his eyes.  
  
Just what case was he obsessing about now, and why hadn't he told her?  
  
It was quite some time later before she heard him go to bed.  
  
Max, who rarely slept, had no intention of sleeping this night.  
  
Quietly she walked out to the living room, and sat by the window.  
  
She would never admit it to Kendra or Original Cindy, but there was only one person who had the ability to dominate her thoughts.  
  
TBC 


	2. Strife

Here's the next part of my story. Thanks for the reviews. I forgot to say that this is my first fan fic ever, so it was very encouraging to have some good reviews. Thanks. I also forgot to say that this is set in Season 1, before Art Attack.  
  
Chapter 2  
  
The rest of the night passed uneventfully and Max was showered and ready to go before Logan had woken.  
  
She tossed up the idea of calling in sick, but in the light of day her fears seemed a little too fanciful. Fogle Towers had security – she could testify to that herself – and Bling would be there soon. She couldn't deny it was tempting to linger until Bling came, but she had to get home first and change her clothes, not to mention picking up her bike, before heading to Jam Pony.  
  
Besides, what excuse could she give to Logan as to why she was hanging around? She still wasn't quite sure that she wanted to admit to him she'd been staking out his place, and nothing had actually happened to make her fears seem valid. Well, that was okay by her. She'd be happy if it stayed that way, too.  
  
Max wrote a quick, "Bye, see yah later," on a stick it pad and placed it on Logan's computer, then slipped out the door.  
  
Once outside, she rode a thorough circuit of the building, and checked out the foyer area, but she could find nothing untoward.  
  
With a glance upward she murmured, "Logan, keep safe," and headed for her own apartment.  
  
*************************************************  
  
"Kendra said you didn't make it home last night Boo!" Original Cindy looked at her with a knowing glance as Max put her things in her locker.  
  
"Yeah. It got kinda late, so I crashed at Logan's."  
  
Max liked to sound as non-committal as possible when she spoke to her friends about him.  
  
"Yeah?" Original Cindy managed to put a wealth of meaning behind that one word.  
  
Max rolled her eyes at her good- naturedly. "Let's not go down there again," she laughed as she headed to get a package from Normal.  
  
It was a busy morning, and time raced by. As forecast, the weather remained fine and sunny. It was looking good for their picnic.  
  
She still wasn't entirely sure if it was a sensible thing to do with 'snake eyes' lurking about, but she was reasonably sure of her own ability to protect Logan.  
  
In fact, if there 'was' something going down, it would almost be a relief to face something tangible. Shadow boxing had never been a subject on the Manticore curriculum.  
  
"Still," she decided as she rode over there, "I'm going to have to confront him with this -after the picnic."  
  
************************************************  
  
"Logan," she called in her usual way as she walked in.  
  
On hearing her voice, Logan pushed himself back from his computer and wheeled out to meet her.  
  
Motioning towards the kitchen he called to her, "Your lunch awaits."  
  
A large picnic hamper sat on the kitchen counter and at the sight of it Max's stomach rumbled in anticipation, and she wondered what delights Logan might have in store for her.  
  
He certainly looked pleased with himself. He wore black cargoes and the sky blue sweater that beautifully complemented the colour of his eyes.  
  
"Mmm, nice," she commented, giving him one of her sexy smiles.  
  
Logan looked up at her, slightly suspicious. "You haven't tasted it yet."  
  
With her same provocative look she replied, "I'm anticipating."  
  
"You two all set for the great outdoors?" asked Bling coming in at that moment with some mail for Logan.  
  
Max replied to Bling, but watched surreptitiously as Logan took his mail. Unless she was mistaken, the envelope looked the same as the one he had put in his desk yesterday.  
  
Watching his face, she saw an expression on it that she couldn't quite read.  
  
"I'll just put these away first," he said to Max, wheeling back to his computer.  
  
Max looked at Bling enquiringly to see if he knew anything, but he shrugged wordlessly. He was too used to Logan's mood swings.  
  
Max hesitated for a moment, knowing that Logan wouldn't thank her for being nosey, but in light of her encounter with the stranger downstairs, she was willing to risk his ire.  
  
Thoughtfully, she went around the other way to Logan's computer, so that she could come up behind him.  
  
Logan was so absorbed in what he was reading, that he didn't notice Max standing well behind him but close enough to see what held his attention so closely.  
  
What she read made her blood run cold.  
  
"REMEMBER MARCH 13th. THIS TIME THE BULLET WILL KILL."  
  
"Is that what you call fan mail?"  
  
Logan looked up startled, with a guilty expression on his face. He went to shove the letter in the drawer, but Max was way too quick for him.  
  
She grabbed it from his hand, then reached into the drawer and pulled out two other envelopes just like the one she held in her hand.  
  
Seething with rage, she silently read them and found they bore similar words – the date, March 13th, and threats to kill.  
  
Her voice was ominously quiet as she asked, "Just when were you thinking of showing these to me?"  
  
"When I had some evidence on who they were from," he snapped back at her.  
  
Her words, and his, came out fast and furious.  
  
"Do you know?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
"How long's it gonna take?"  
  
"Well, I won't know that till it's done, will I?" he finished sarcastically.  
  
"Pity you may not be around to find out!" she retorted. "It didn't cross your mind that I might be interested in these?" Her voice rose on the last few words.  
  
"I didn't want you to worry," he tried to reason.  
  
"Surely that's for me to decide?"  
  
"You would have made a big deal of it – like you are! – and tried to play bodyguard."  
  
"Well maybe that's just what you need!"  
  
With a set look to his face, Logan replied evenly, "I've had threats before Max."  
  
"Yeah? Look where the last one landed you."  
  
He glanced away from her quickly at that remark, but not before Max had read the momentary flash of pain in his eyes, however it only served to flame the fire inside her. How could he receive death threats and not tell her? Didn't he know that she cared about him – that she'd stayed in Seattle because of him?  
  
She'd already seen him shot once courtesy of the hover drone footage, and she definitely had no intention of seeing a sequel.  
  
Trying to calm down, and already regretting her previous remark, Max said in a more even tone, "I thought circumstances like this were in my job description?"  
  
"I never asked for a nanny!" he retorted cuttingly, his own voice rising.  
  
Max regarded him scornfully. "Yeah, well I call it looking out for a friend. Forget the picnic. I'm not hungry anymore."  
  
With that she stormed out of the computer room, heading for the door, nearly knocking down Bling in her anger.  
  
"Sorry Bling."  
  
"Max?"  
  
She was more angry than she could remember in a long time – well at least since Logan had cancelled the dinner she'd cooked for him and taken her out on an Eyes Only recon instead.  
  
She could feel the anger coursing through her, wild and unchecked, but in the middle of it, there was another emotion ... was it fear?  
  
She briefly looked at Bling, then almost in spite of herself whispered vehemently to him,  
  
"Don't let him out of your sight!"  
  
TBC 


	3. Down

Thanks again for all the reviews - I'm so thrilled you're all enjoying my first attempt!  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Logan hardly spoke to Bling the entire day, and when Bling finally asked, "Do you want to talk about it?" he'd simply replied, "Nope," in a voice that brooked no further discussion.  
  
For the remainder of the day, Logan barely moved from his computer, attacking the keys with a vengeance.  
  
It was true – he had intended to tell Max about the threats, but only when he'd discovered who the author was. Now he worked furiously for the information he required, but it was a tiresome search, the elusive answer more than content to hide. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt there was something, or someone, he should remember.  
  
"Dammit," he fumed, thumping on the desk with increasing frustration - nearly a whole day gone, and not one lead to go on.  
  
Forcing his shoulders back to stretch them, conscious now of a headache that had been nagging at him for some time, he accepted the fact that he needed to clear his mind.  
  
With renewed vigour he pushed himself away from the computer and called to Bling.  
  
"We'd better get my reps done before it's time for you to go."  
  
"You sure you feel up to doing them today?" asked Bling, noting the red- rimmed eyes and pale face, only accentuated by Logan's usual unshaven look.  
  
"Sure." Logan's reply was curt as he went to the bedroom to change.  
  
Bling raised his eyebrows, privately deciding not to push the stubborn Logan too hard.  
  
Logan had other ideas however, and worked as one possessed.  
  
It was a relief to be doing something physical after the hours of inactivity on the computer, and it was a far more satisfying way of relieving his frustration. Not just his frustration with his fruitless search, but with Max.  
  
Max!  
  
"Of course she'd take that attitude!" he fumed as he lifted the weight in his left hand, his right hand holding him steady on the workout table, feeling strongly justified in not having told her about the letters earlier.  
  
"Eight, nine, ten." Bling finished counting for him.  
  
With an almost imperceptible sigh he put the weight down, surprised at how drained and tired he suddenly felt.  
  
"I'd say we're all done here," said Bling, taking the weights and stowing them on the rack. He then moved Logan's wheelchair to the side of the table so that he could transfer.  
  
Logan took one look at it and dismally thought he didn't have enough energy to get into it.  
  
"Bling, could you get me a drink of water please?" he asked instead, picking up his hand towel and rubbing his face and neck with it, vaguely wondering why he felt so hot.  
  
"Max!" The word rose unbidden to his mind.  
  
That's why he felt so hot he realized - he felt steamed up and angry every time he thought of her.  
  
He'd been staring intently at the polished floorboards, but in his mind he was sitting in his wheelchair, repeating their latest argument, as he had done at least twenty times during his enlightening afternoon on the computer, when he gradually became aware of a funny distant ringing in his ears - or was it a muffled whooshing?  
  
It was a strange sensation, almost as if some invisible hand had turned up the volume on all the noise that was usually in the background.  
  
Putting a hand to his forehead, he suddenly felt very, very, hot, and kind of clammy.  
  
"Damn ..."  
  
The realization of what was happening hit him as he began to topple from the table.  
  
Powerless to stop it, he tried calling out to Bling.  
  
Somewhere a long way away, he thought he heard someone calling his name, and then he was lost in a very deep, black void.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
Logan was first aware of something cold on his face, and then he had the sensation of coming up from somewhere a very long way down. He felt horribly sick.  
  
Opening his eyes seemed too difficult, so instead he lay wherever he was with his eyes closed, for the moment unable to concentrate on anything else other than the cool water that felt so soothing on his face.  
  
After another few moments, thankfully the nausea in his stomach began to recede, and the realization slowly dawned on him that he was beginning to feel more human.  
  
With that thought came the memory of what had happened. His last coherent thought had been of falling. At that, his mind obligingly replayed the episode, but the sensation of falling was so unpleasant that he quickly opened his eyes.  
  
With a shock he looked up into hauntingly beautiful chocolate brown eyes that watched him now with a worried expression.  
  
Max.  
  
Logan really didn't know whether to be pleased or embarrassed - probably the latter, so to be on the safe side, he frowned anyway.  
  
He squinted up at her, speaking slowly as if it was an effort, and sounding vaguely annoyed.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
Not one to be put off, she replied with the hint of a smile, "I was just passing, thought I'd drop in."  
  
Logan opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, then closed it, and looked away from her.  
  
"Damn," he thought to himself again, reflecting that his whole day was becoming more and more like a nightmare.  
  
Still not looking at her, and in the manner of one steeling themselves for the worst, he said, "I suppose I ..."  
  
Max jumped in before he had a chance to finish, and in the voice of 'you probably won't want to hear this' said, "You kinda fainted."  
  
She then added, as matter-of-factly as possible, "Bling was able to catch you – saved you from doing a header off the table. For someone who doesn't like heights, you're beginning to make a habit of this."  
  
Logan didn't see her quick, cautionary look at Bling as she spoke. She doubted very much if Logan would be pleased that it was in fact Max who had caught him.  
  
She'd come in the door just in time to see his slow motion fall and was able to duck beneath him and catch him on her shoulder. Then, with Logan in a fireman's hold, and calling to Bling, she gently laid him on the couch.  
  
While Bling had put pillows under his legs to aid his circulation, Max had grabbed the facecloth from the bathroom to lie on his forehead.  
  
At this point, Bling came into Logan's line of vision with a blood pressure kit, which he proceeded to put on Logan's arm and pump. Logan viewed the apparatus with disgust as he considered blood pressure kits were for invalids.  
  
"Yeah. Next time could we have a little more warning from you?" the trainer smiled absently as he studied the read out.  
  
Logan gave him a perfunctory half smile. "Can I sit up now?"  
  
Bling shook his head in exasperation. "If you could see the colour of your face, you wouldn't ask such a fool question."  
  
Logan folded his arms at that, favouring Bling with another of his frowns.  
  
Max called it his 'spoilt, rich kid' look. He did do it remarkably well.  
  
"Logan, your blood pressure is really low," said Bling seriously, putting the kit away.  
  
"Is that why I passed out?" asked Logan warily.  
  
Bling looked directly at Logan. "You wanna tell me the last time you ate or drank?"  
  
Logan didn't have to answer - his expressive eyes betrayed him.  
  
"I thought so," nodded the trainer with a resigned expression.  
  
Logan studied his feet intently, but Max saw his eyes narrow, and the way he swallowed hard as if he was trying to bite back a retort.  
  
"Hey, it's easy to forget a few meals when you're busy, right? I do it all the time," Max admitted.  
  
At that Logan looked up at her and laughed in spite of himself. "I don't think I've 'ever' known you to forget a meal. What happened to – I'm hungry Logan, feed me?"  
  
"Well, I burn a lot of calories kickin' ass," she smiled down at him.  
  
Max flashed a look at Bling over his head, and then said on a gentle note, "Hey, you wanna get some sleep?"  
  
Logan immediately went to say, "No, I'm fine," however seeing the look on both their faces, with a considerable lack of grace he murmured, "I guess I don't have a choice."  
  
In truth he didn't even feel he had the strength to sit up. The thought made him frown. It took a lot of effort to get into his wheelchair. "Don't think about it," he said to himself.  
  
It seemed strange to be lying on his own couch with Max at his side. He was torn between enjoying the attention, and being furious at himself for his own weakness in front of her.  
  
As if reading his mind, Max leaned forward, her eyes locked to his, and said quietly, "Hey, this time you're the one on the couch, and I get to take care of you."  
  
Max watched the green eyes gazing back at her intently, a myriad of emotions reflected in their depths, till at last he gave her a half grin. "Well," he said lightly, "it does seem only fair."  
  
"Now, will you close your eyes ...pleeeeese?"  
  
Obediently he did as asked. Taking a deep breath he could feel the tension slowly ebbing from his body.  
  
"Perhaps it 'was' good to have her here," was his last thought before he drifted quickly into a deep, refreshing sleep.  
  
TBC 


	4. Picnic

Here we go. Thanks for reviewing. Also thanks for telling me about the signed review thing. I turned it off. By the way, I hadn't seen 'Shorties in Love' when I started writing this – we both had the same candles ideas.  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Max exchanged glances with Bling, who was openly admiring her way with his difficult employer and friend as they both walked through to the kitchen where they could talk without Logan hearing.  
  
"So all I have to do is say 'pleeese.' said Bling slyly.  
  
Max threw him a look, and said "So," in a business like manner, but her next words were less assured.  
  
"He 'is' going to be all right? I mean, it's not like the last time when ...?" She couldn't bring herself to say any more. The memory and pain of seeing Logan lying in the hospital bed unconscious; the doctor telling her there was nothing he could do; her own plea "Don't leave me," - it was all far too fresh in her mind.  
  
Bling shook his head, and smiled at her comfortingly. "Max, you know Logan. He obsesses, then he doesn't eat, then he doesn't sleep. I've seen him do this before."  
  
She gave him a half smile, perhaps not entirely satisfied.  
  
"We'll keep an eye on him," added Bling.  
  
"Would you trust me to keep an eye on him?" Max asked with a glint in her eye.  
  
Bling laughed. "Well I'm sure he'd prefer you to me!"  
  
Max wasn't entirely sure of that, but she had a plan.  
  
"You planning on sleeping here?" Bling asked innocently.  
  
"Yeah, I'll take the guest room," Max replied, refusing to take the bait.  
  
She then added "Bling, there's something else."  
  
Bling looked at her questioningly, the smile fading from his face as he saw the seriousness of hers.  
  
"I think Logan is in danger."  
  
Max continued, "Until this is sorted out, we can't leave him alone, particularly outside of here."  
  
Bling admitted, "It was kinda hard not to hear the 'discussion' you two had today."  
  
"He's been receiving threats against his life," Max told him, still shaking her head at the thought she hadn't been told. "Logan's gonna have to work out who's behind this, but it's up to us to watch his back."  
  
Looking thoughtful, Bling replied, "I'll be back first thing in the morning, before you head off to work."  
  
As he let himself out, the trainer mused that Logan was a lucky man to have the ministrations of Max for the evening.  
  
********************************************************  
  
Logan reached for his glasses and looked about in amazement when he woke about an hour later – the lights were out and in their place a dazzling array of candles lit the area, and their afternoon picnic had been laid out on the low table in front of the couch.  
  
Max saw him stirring as she was returning with a bottle of wine and two glasses.  
  
Logan pulled himself upright and smiled at her in appreciation.  
  
"So what do you think? I thought it might make up for missing our picnic this afternoon."  
  
"I'm impressed."  
  
"Hope you don't mind – I raided all your cupboards for candles."  
  
"No. It looks beautiful. I didn't know I had so many."  
  
Logan, suddenly conscious of the fact that he still had his exercise gear on looked for his wheelchair.  
  
"What is it?" asked Max.  
  
"I need to get my sweater. This T Shirt is kinda ..." he trailed off, making a face.  
  
"I'll get it for you," Max offered.  
  
Logan hesitated for a moment, then giving in to being waited on he said, "It's on my bed."  
  
Max paused for a moment at the doorway of his room, musing that you couldn't fault Logan on taste. She hadn't been in his room very often, but it had the same masculine, warm, mellow feel as the rest of his apartment. The blue sweater was on the bed as he'd said.  
  
By the time she'd returned he'd changed his position so that he was sitting facing her, his feet on the ground.  
  
"There you go," Max said, tossing it to him.  
  
Logan waited a beat, for some reason feeling a little embarrassed, then he pulled off his grey T Shirt.  
  
Max busied herself with the picnic items, but couldn't resist stealing a quick look while he pulled the sweater over his head, at his toned, athletic body.  
  
Something made her think back to the few times she'd seen him before the shooting – tall, confident, perhaps overly confident ...  
  
With slight embarrassment herself this time, she realized that Logan was looking at her expectantly. "Well, are we gonna eat?"  
  
"Oh ... yeah."  
  
Recovering quickly she handed Logan the wine and opener. "You may do the honours."  
  
He passed Max her drink, but as she went to take it, held on a fraction longer so that both their hands were on the glass. His eyes held hers, and he simply said "Thank you."  
  
Max felt her stomach do something strange – strange but nice.  
  
"No big dealio," she smiled back, obviously pleased.  
  
"I must say, you certainly know how to spoil a girl." She threw a hand out towards their repast. "Hey, I should be thanking you. To think I would have been happy with peanut butter sandwiches!"  
  
"Well, I thought of that," replied Logan seriously, then grinning, "but I couldn't find the right wine as an accompaniment."  
  
*********************************************  
  
Some time later, the wine had been finished, the food had been eaten, and plates cleared away.  
  
They had chatted amiably throughout the meal, but now it was concluded, the thought that had been uppermost in both their minds could no longer be restrained.  
  
Logan looked at Max, Max looked at Logan, then simultaneously they said, "About the letters."  
  
Max bit her lip, and said, "You first."  
  
Logan took a deep breath, in the manner of one about to bare his soul. Being open never came easily to him.  
  
"I received the first one two days ago."  
  
He shrugged, "I wasn't too concerned - that kind of thing goes with the territory - Eyes Only has never been in the business of making friends. I've been researching it, tryin' to get a lead."  
  
He shook his head as he spoke. "No luck so far. To tell the truth I'm not even sure how serious it is. Maybe it's just a crank job ... Anyway," and at that he lifted his eyes to her face, "I was going to tell you about it when I had something to go on."  
  
He hesitated for a moment, then continued, his eyes intent on those polished floorboards again, "I didn't want you to worry about me. You have enough on your plate. I don't mean for you to be saddled with me as well."  
  
He tried to sound upbeat on the last few words, but he kept his eyes averted from her face. Instead of the polished floorboards, all he could see was her face as they sat in his car outside his uncle's cabin, the day Max was going to leave Seattle with Zack.  
  
Her words came back vividly, "I'll be better than okay. It's what I'm made for. It's you I'm worried about."  
  
He had put his head down as she'd said it then, and the words were no easier to hear today. The truth was that he didn't want to be the protected, but the protector. Ludicrous he knew – even before the shooting ... well, he wasn't going to go there.  
  
Max looked at him incredulously. "What planet are you spaced out on? The great and powerful Eyes Only someone to be saddled with?"  
  
He laughed cynically at her words. "Next you'll be telling me the pen is mightier than the sword."  
  
Ignoring the comment she continued, "And I can think of a number of times you saved this girls ass." She smiled a little self-consciously, "I just don't like to admit it. Besides," she added with a daring amount of warmth in her voice, "friends are s'posed to worry about each other. It kinda goes with the territory."  
  
Logan didn't appear as if he wanted to pursue the issue. Had she got through any of those layers of his? There was so much more she would have liked to say, but ... well ... she didn't, although she did think she saw a gleam of understanding in his eyes.  
  
Now it was her turn to confess. Why was honesty such a whack job?  
  
Logan was watching her now, enquiringly.  
  
"You know yesterday, when we were going to ... What was that!"  
  
Logan looked around. "I don't hear any..."  
  
"Shhhh," she cut him off.  
  
Max rose at her most cat-like and headed stealthily towards the door.  
  
"Max, my chair," Logan reminded her. It was still next to the exercise table.  
  
"Later," was her terse reply.  
  
With an exasperated sigh, all he could do was sit and wait.  
  
Max was at the door now. She could hear a scratching from the other side and it was surprisingly loud. The thought flashed through her mind that if it was the element of surprise they were after, they'd well and truly blown it.  
  
She was just about to wrench open the door when she heard voices the other side of the door call "Security, don't move. Get down on the ground."  
  
It was an anticlimax she hadn't expected. She carefully opened the door.  
  
"Building security here ma'am. We appear to have apprehended a man attempting to break into Mr. Cale's apartment."  
  
The security guards had their guns trained on a man dressed in dirty clothes and a baseball cap.  
  
The accused, as if aware of her scrutiny, lifted his face. She stared at his eyes intently.  
  
They were brown.  
  
Damn!  
  
"Is Mr. Cale there ma'am?" one of the guards was asking.  
  
"Leave him with me. We'll deal with it."  
  
Both guards hesitated. The would-be thief was quite a deal heavier and taller than her, not to mention a lot uglier.  
  
Seeing their hesitation, Max reached forward, grabbed the man's arm, and expertly twisted it up and behind his back, with enough force to make the man cry out in pain.  
  
"Come with me, Scumbag." Her words and tone were almost more threatening than her actions.  
  
"Thanks boys. Mr. Cale and I will sort this out."  
  
Max closed the door on them without giving them the opportunity to reply.  
  
With the man's arm still twisted behind his back, she pushed him down the hallway to the right, towards Logan.  
  
"Got a present for yah!"  
  
Logan looked at the man closely. "I've never seen him before."  
  
"Pity."  
  
She turned to her captive. "Okay, out with it. You were caught trying to break in here ... and?" she finished menacingly.  
  
"No! They got it wrong! Honest!"  
  
Max's every instinct told her the man was lying. He appeared to be a petty thief, hardly a mastermind with a grudge against Logan – either that or an incredibly good actor.  
  
"You're lying," she purred in his ear, twisting his arm tighter. "You know, it only takes a liiiiiitle more pressure for me to 'snap' your arm in two. Now, you wanna come clean before you're groveling on the ground in pain?"  
  
The man had started to sweat profusely. He found this girl frankly terrifying. He looked down at Logan, hoping for a possible ally, but Logan interpreting his look correctly said, "You heard her. I wouldn't waste time thinking about it if I were you."  
  
Max upped the pressure a fraction more, and the man completely caved in. "Okay, okay, I'll tell you, just don't hurt me. I'll tell you." He was pathetically desperate.  
  
"Start talking," she spat out.  
  
"I met this man in the bar. He said he'd give me a thousand big ones if I came up here and roughed up some guy in a wheelchair. Said it'd be easy money."  
  
"You talking straight with me?" Max thought it all sounded far too simple.  
  
The man was garrulous now, determined to please. He just wanted to be out of there.  
  
"Like I said, he just wanted me to scare him a bit. I dunno why. He didn't say."  
  
He looked hopefully between Max and Logan. Obviously he hadn't connected Logan with 'the man in the wheelchair.'  
  
For his part, Logan regarded the man impassively.  
  
Max looked at him in frank disgust. "You're a real hero, aren't you?"  
  
"I'm just tryin to make a bit of money," the other responded defensively.  
  
"What did the other man look like?" asked Max.  
  
"I dunno...tallish, dark hair, real fine clothes, and he smelt real good too."  
  
"What colour eyes?"  
  
At this even Logan noticed the edge to her voice.  
  
"Had dark glasses on - couldn't see, but I'll tell you one thing, he was a real cold fish."  
  
The man almost shuddered just thinking about him.  
  
"You know, like a shark or something lurking in the depths, just waiting to pounce on ... "  
  
"Shut Up! Are you on something?" Max was beginning to have serious doubts about the man's sanity.  
  
"Hey," he said, sounding hurt, "I'm just tryin' to help. You gonna let me go now?"  
  
"Have you ever seen this man before?" put in Logan.  
  
"Uh uh. Total stranger.  
  
"How did he pay you?"  
  
"Cold cash. Impressive eh?"  
  
Max asked, "Why didn't you just run? You had your pay off."  
  
"Hey, I got some pride in me! Anyway," he added, "he scared the crap outta me. I wouldn't want to double cross that dude!"  
  
Logan looked up at Max. "Well, it's not much to go on."  
  
"Can I go now?" asked the man hopefully. I won't come back –thinkin' of leavin' this dump, try my luck up north."  
  
Max looked at Logan, her dark eyes questioning.  
  
"Tell us your name, then you can go," Logan told him.  
  
The man seemed greatly relieved. "Jack Slater."  
  
Grabbing the man's elbow to hustle him to the door, Max said, "Okay Jack Slater, this is how it works: if I ever see your face around here again, let's just say you'll be writing permanently with your toes. Got me?"  
  
"Hey, like I said, I'm headin' north."  
  
For some reason Slater looked back towards Logan, and in that instance Max saw the look of comprehension that flashed across his shifty face. "So..o..o.oh, your boyfriend here is the wheelchair guy," he leered.  
  
Max grabbed him in a vice-like grip with one hand at his throat. "You just won the lottery," she congratulated him, tightening her hand at his throat till he felt like he was about to pass out. "Now if I see you around here it'll be your scrawny neck that gets broke. Got it?"  
  
She pushed him away as if she couldn't bear to touch him a second longer.  
  
Jack Slater stood there whooping for breath.  
  
"Now let's pass you back to the security boys. I'm sure they've got a little something up their sleeves for you."  
  
Locking the door behind her, she escorted him downstairs to the foyer, and left him in the hands of the two security guards she'd seen earlier.  
  
"We're done with him. He's all yours," she smiled sweetly.  
  
"If they rough him up a bit it'll serve him right," she mused, "but I'd better not let Logan know."  
  
TBC 


	5. Another discussion

Thanks for the lovely reviews. They are all so encouraging!!  
  
Chapter 5  
  
Max quickly returned to the penthouse, and let herself in.  
  
Logan, on seeing her, said with considerable restraint, "Could I 'please' have my wheelchair now?"  
  
"Oh. Sure."  
  
As he transferred to it thankfully, he said, "Do you know something about all this that you're not telling me?"  
  
Max absently watched him put his feet on the footrest as she debated what to say.  
  
Logan raised an eyebrow at her. "Well?" he prompted.  
  
With something like a sigh, Max came and sat on the couch in front of him.  
  
"You know when we were walking to the market, a beggar came up to you, and I was kinda ..." she struggled for the right word, "tense."  
  
"Yeaaah," said Logan slowly.  
  
"Well, I noticed he had expensive shoes."  
  
"And?' Logan leaned back in his chair, wondering where all this was going to.  
  
"Then, that night, I spotted him in the foyer here. He seemed kinda suspicious – like he was trying to come up here."  
  
She conveniently forgot to tell him that she'd waited opposite for over two hours to catch her quarry.  
  
"Thing is," she continued, thinking this wasn't going so badly, "he got away before I had a chance to talk to him. Then this creepo tonight said the guy who paid him was ' well dressed, and smelled good.' My guy had the whole high class business suit look, and expensive cologne."  
  
"And you think it's the same guy?"  
  
"There's more to it."  
  
She walked over to the windows and looked out. "There was something about his manner ... it sounds silly, but I understood what Slater meant when he said this guy was like a shark. He really creeped me out," she admitted, making a face.  
  
"Wow! Must be serious to do that." Logan couldn't hold back his quirky smile at the corners of his mouth.  
  
He watched her standing there, staring out into the night.  
  
Just at that moment a flash of lightning flared behind her, illuminating the night sky with its brilliance. It was impressive he thought, but not as impressive as the beauty before him.  
  
"I'm serious Logan." Max turned back towards him. "The other thing about him was his eyes. They were a green like I've never seen before."  
  
"And I'm meant to know someone with green eyes, great clothes, French cologne?"  
  
"And Italian loafers," added Max with a wince.  
  
Logan nodded. "Ah well, that definitely clinches it!"  
  
Max came up to stand in front of him. "Logan, this isn't a joke. Whoever it is knows where you live. I don't like it!"  
  
Logan released his brakes and headed for his computer. He, in his turn, didn't like where this conversation was heading.  
  
"I thought you liked where I live," he commented, being intentionally obtuse.  
  
"Logan!" Max was losing patience. "You know it's not safe here. We need to get you outta here."  
  
"I've got work to do," Logan said with simple finality.  
  
"You can't ignore this!"  
  
"I'm not ignoring this. I'm getting on the computer to search for all the wealthy, cologne wearing men of my acquaintance."  
  
Max rolled her eyes. "You could move to a safe house."  
  
Logan kept his eyes glued to the screen. "In a wheelchair? I don't think so."  
  
"Well, you could book yourself into the best hotel in town if you wanted to. Anywhere would be safer than here!"  
  
"Max. It's unlikely I'd find anywhere that has building security as good as here. Tonight was a perfect example. Barring cat burglars who enter through skylights and jump through windows to escape, it's always proven to be impenetrable."  
  
Max walked over to his computer, stood against the desk and then leaned sideways so that she obscured his view of the screen.  
  
He looked up with an annoyed expression.  
  
"You have no intention of leaving here, do you?" There was a dangerous intensity to her words.  
  
"Is there anything I've said that would make you think otherwise?" was his sarcastic reply.  
  
Their eyes locked, green and brown eyes respectively flashed frustration, anger, single-mindedness.  
  
"Okay. Have it your own way," Max flung at him in disgust.  
  
Without another word or look at him, she returned to the window, where she sat herself on the ledge, one leg up, stonily surveying the city.  
  
Logan released his breaks and spun around, opened his mouth as if her were about to say something, then tightened his lips, spun back to the computer, and reset his breaks with an angry gesture. The load 'snap' they made only served to accentuate the palpable tension in the air.  
  
Max glowered at the Seattle skyline. One by one, heavy raindrops began to careen down the windowpane, until a veritable torrent was rushing down at a frantic pace.  
  
Stormy weather had returned to Seattle.  
  
TBC 


	6. Alarm

Here we go with chapter 6. I'm so glad you're all enjoying this. Once again, thanks for all the reviews. I feel like Christmas has arrived early when I see them in my inbox!!!!  
  
Chapter 6  
  
The weather had indeed turned with a vengeance. Winter had well and truly arrived.  
  
Max kept watch at her window.  
  
She could hear Logan tapping away on his keyboard.  
  
The nights were dark in post-pulse Seattle. Once the buildings would have all been brightly lit, but nowadays many of them towered as silent specters in a broken world.  
  
Uninhabited. Uninhabitable.  
  
Dark.  
  
"Dark night. Dark mood," she thought morosely.  
  
"Logan Cale. Of all the people in Seattle, 'he' had to be the one she had a connection with. If there was someone up there, he or she, had a whacked sense of humour. Why did Logan have to be so stubborn, so pig headed, so infuriatingly ... like herself?"  
  
She let out a long sigh, and with it, some of her anger.  
  
She had to admit that in his place, she wouldn't have left either, just as she had defied Zack and refused to leave Seattle.  
  
She could see Logan reflected in the window. She could imagine his scruffy face staring intently at the screen, his long, slender fingers flying over the keyboard with a grace that was unmistakably his.  
  
"What happened to the girl who didn't give a damn?"  
  
*******************************************************  
  
Bling was there in plenty of time for her to get to Jam Pony. With relief she realized tomorrow was Saturday. Couldn't come soon enough. Maybe then they'd have time to sort this bitch out.  
  
She tentatively greeted Logan with a smile when he wheeled out of his bedroom the next morning.  
  
He seemed pleased to see her, even if he appeared half asleep. Perhaps last night's discussion was forgotten.  
  
"You got breakfast for a girl before she heads out?"  
  
He grimaced at her. "Coffee, cereal?"  
  
"Was wrecking yourself at the computer last night worth it?"  
  
He tried a grin, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Not a thing. Not one single lead to go on."  
  
She stood there in front of him, hands on hips, bright eyed after a sleepless night, and full of attitude.  
  
He looked up at her. "So, in answer to your question - emphatically no."  
  
It made him tired just looking at her. Maybe he just wasn't a morning person, he mused.  
  
"Well, gotta bounce. Fill Bling in on our visitor."  
  
She then looked around and pouted, "What, no packed lunch?"  
  
Logan rolled his eyes. "Good bye."  
  
******************************************************  
  
Logan told Bling of their late night visitor while they both ate some breakfast together.  
  
"What's your plan today then?" the trainer asked.  
  
Logan sighed. "Same again. I gotta work this out. But first, a shower."  
  
Some time later, feeling considerably refreshed, Logan wheeled himself into the computer room. He had just powered up his computer when suddenly the fire alarm in the hallway outside his penthouse started wailing.  
  
Bling put his head around the corner. "You stay there. I'll check it out."  
  
Naturally Logan didn't stay there, but followed Bling to the now open door of his apartment. Bling cautiously stuck his head out, but there was no sign of fire or smoke.  
  
The alarms up close were deafening.  
  
At that moment the elevator opened and two security guards came out. They seemed relieved to see Logan in the doorway, and one of them said breathlessly, "Mr. Cale, we have to evacuate the building immediately. We have an uncontrolled fire on the tenth floor. Fire trucks are on their way."  
  
Bling and Logan looked at each other, suspicion in their eyes.  
  
"Do we 'have' to evacuate?" asked Logan.  
  
"I'm sorry sir, but naturally there's danger using the elevators, and our orders are to bring you and Mrs. Moreno out immediately."  
  
'Great' thought Logan dryly, evacuate the elderly and the infirm.  
  
He looked at Bling. "I don't like this, but I guess we have no choice."  
  
"I'll lock up," said Bling with meaning, "meantime, you go down in the elevator with the security guard."  
  
Feeling like a captain deserting his ship, Logan moved into the lift with one of the security guards, while the other went on to Mrs. Moreno's apartment.  
  
"Does anyone live on the tenth floor?" Logan asked as the elevator headed down.  
  
"No, fortunately."  
  
"Have you seen the fire? Been to the floor?"  
  
"Uh uh. Our job was evacuating people."  
  
"You wanna take a look on the way down?"  
  
The guard looked at him as if he were crazy. "Hey man, it's my job to get you down to the foyer in one piece. We ain't stopping anywhere."  
  
Logan nodded his head philosophically - no harm in trying.  
  
*************************************************  
  
Bling rushed back into the apartment, ensuring that none of Logan's Eyes Only work was accessible. Once satisfied he locked the door, and started the long walk down in the stairwell. He was uneasy in his mind about being separated from Logan feeling reasonably sure that Max wouldn't approve of this arrangement. This whole fire seemed a little convenient, considering the circumstances. With a grim determination he increased his pace.  
  
**************************************************  
  
The elevator doors opened with their usual 'ping', but Logan was at first reluctant to leave their sanctuary. It was like LAX at Christmas time, pre- pulse of course. There seemed to be people everywhere.  
  
Logan looked at his watch. No wonder there were so many people around, the time was only 7:45 a.m. Most people wouldn't have left for work when the alarm sounded. He thought to himself that he hadn't realized so many people lived in the building as he knew for a fact that many of the apartments were vacant.  
  
Steeling himself for the onslaught of people, he decided to head for an unobtrusive corner where he could wait for Bling.  
  
Pandemonium seemed to reign, people were rushing and calling out, children and parents crying alike. He heard someone say that there had been an explosion on the tenth floor and others spoke of burnt bodies. It all sounded horrific, but his journalistic instincts told him that he was yet to see any facts to support the hyperbole.  
  
For the most part he was ignored as he waited for Bling, which suited him nicely. The fire trucks had arrived, and most people's interest was now fully occupied in watching the firemen arriving with their apparatus. Logan found it interesting as well.  
  
He realized Bling would have a hard time finding him amongst the throng, but decided it was wiser to stay where he was. Scanning the foyer, he thought he had a momentary glimpse of Bling, and was just contemplating going forward to meet him, when he felt something hit him on his right arm and suddenly he felt a searing pain.  
  
With shock he looked down to find his pale grey sweater covered in blood.  
  
**************************************************  
  
Bling was surprised as well when he entered the foyer. Nothing like a disaster to bring people out.  
  
Assuming Logan would find a position out of the rush, he started walking around the perimeter, having to excuse himself as he pushed past others trying to escape the melee. At last he spotted Logan in one of the corners near the front entrance. He seemed to be looking down at something, and then Bling saw him jerkily clutch his right arm with his left hand.  
  
Bling rushed forward – knowing intuitively that something wasn't right - until he was close enough to see the blood.  
  
"Logan?"  
  
Logan looked up at him. "Get me the hell outta here," he said tensely.  
  
**********************************************  
  
"You gonna tell me what happened?" Bling asked as they headed to the hospital.  
  
Logan's car had been parked out the front, fortunately away from the fire trucks. Within minutes Bling had Logan in the car, wheelchair stowed in the back, and his own jacket wrapped around Logan's upper arm, which still continued to bleed sluggishly.  
  
"I don't really know," replied Logan, still dazed by the suddenness of events. "I was just watching the firemen arrive. I felt ...I can't explain it ...like someone punched me on the arm. When I looked down ...this."  
  
"You didn't see who did it?"  
  
Logan looked at him and said simply "It was all too fast."  
  
Bling had quickly checked his arm before they drove off. "That's a deep knife wound you've got there. How's it feel?"  
  
Logan shrugged, "Not too bad I guess."  
  
In truth his arm didn't hurt too badly. What shook him was how quick and easy the whole thing had been. Why the arm? Why not chest, back ... heart? Logan shivered.  
  
"You okay? Not goin' into shock on me?" asked Bling concerned.  
  
Logan shook his head, not quite trusting himself to speak. He clutched his arm tighter, glad for the pain, glad to be alive to feel it.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
The ER at the hospital was frantic as usual, but for once Logan was glad that due to his wealth, he went to the head of the line. Paying customers were rare these days. The heath system was as chaotic as the ER they were in.  
  
Logan and Bling were ushered into a cubicle where a young, blonde haired, female doctor quickly saw them. Bling was surprised to see Logan looking at her suspiciously.  
  
Looking up from his file she introduced herself. "I'm Doctor Caroline West and you are Logan Cale?"  
  
Logan nodded his assent.  
  
"You have a knife wound?"  
  
Logan nodded again.  
  
"When did this occur?" she asked as she examined the wound.  
  
Logan thought back. "About 40 minutes ago."  
  
"Mmmm, knife wound to the upper arm. It's nasty. Deep. Fortunately there doesn't seem to be any muscle damage though."  
  
Bling could see Logan was looking more and more edgy.  
  
"You'll need quite a few stitches."  
  
Logan made a face. "How many is quite a few?'  
  
"We'll have to count as we go along," Dr. Caroline West replied brightly.  
  
Logan felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach  
  
*************************************************  
  
There was a veritable plethora of cracks, marks, indentations, and stains on the wall of the cubicle and Logan studied every one of them in detail.  
  
It didn't help.  
  
"It would assist me if you could relax more Mr. Cale," Dr West said encouragingly.  
  
"Please call me Logan, and I'm afraid this is the best I can do."  
  
"I could give you a shot of something for the pain, and it would help you relax as well."  
  
"No," replied Logan quickly, feeling less relaxed than ever at the thought of it.  
  
He turned his face away from her ministrations, and in a good impersonation of Max muttered under his breath, "Let's get this bitch done."  
  
**************************************************  
  
Logan had two calls while he lay on the table being stitched up. The first was from the security at Fogle Towers to say the building was safe again, and apologizing for the evacuation. It had turned out to be a small fire in an unused storage room. No chemicals were involved, and everything had been put under control very quickly. No they didn't know where the rumours came from that it was a major fire. No, no one knew how the fire started. All tenants were allowed back in their apartments. Still, it had been better to be safe than sorry the man had finished jovially. Looking at his arm and grimacing Logan thought dryly "Easy for you to say."  
  
The second call had been Max.  
  
"I was just at your place. They told me all about the fire. Is everything okay?" She sounded concerned.  
  
"Yeah. It's fine - just had a call from ... building security ... Turned out to be nothing."  
  
"A bit strange wouldn't you say after last night?"  
  
"Coincidence probably," Logan managed to get out with a grimace. "I am not enjoying this," was his silent thought.  
  
"Logan?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I just said don't you think it's a bit much to be a coincidence?"  
  
"Oh ..."  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Yeah ... I mean ... no."  
  
"Logan, are you okay? You sound kinda jumpy!"  
  
"Sure, I'm fine. Listen, I'll ring you back later."  
  
With relief he hung up the phone.  
  
Bling had gone in search of a coffee, and waited for Logan outside the cubicle. It was quite some time later before Logan emerged, with a white face and his arm in a sling.  
  
Studiously ignoring Bling's face, he immediately proceeded to take his arm out of the sling and then put the sling in the nearest rubbish bin.  
  
Bling didn't even bother to comment.  
  
"You all set to go home now?"  
  
"Yeah," replied Logan, trying to put as little strain as possible on his right arm as he pushed himself. "I had a call to say we've got the all clear." He filled Bling in on the details as they headed for the car.  
  
"You think it's safe to go back there after all this."  
  
Logan threw Bling a look that said 'not you too!'  
  
"If I'm going to get to the bottom of all this, I'll need all my equipment," he explained impatiently, finding it hard not to wince.  
  
"Well, I don't think Max is likely to be too happy about this."  
  
Logan narrowed his eyes. "'Max' doesn't need to know."  
  
"How can she not know?" asked Bling surprised.  
  
"'We' don't tell her."  
  
"Uh uh, not 'we' – 'you'."  
  
"Okay. Have it your way, 'I' won't tell her!"  
  
"I happen to like the girl," said Bling with a hint of sarcasm. "I also have a healthy regard for my ass."  
  
Logan grunted something unintelligible that Bling seemed to find funny, but made no further comment as they got in the elevator to go down to the hospital car park.  
  
Bling was particularly cautious as they got down there. Like Logan, he was shaken by the speed and the unexpectedness of the attack.  
  
Reaching the car without further mishap, much to Bling's relief, the trainer unlocked the doors and watched thoughtfully as Logan prepared to transfer to the passenger seat of the Aztek.  
  
Almost casually he remarked to Logan, "You know, if you bust those stitches, you'll have to come back and be sewed up all over again."  
  
Logan paused ... sighed ...threw him 'that' look ... and then finally said ungraciously, "Okay. You win."  
  
Without a word, Bling assisted him into the car.  
  
TBC 


	7. My favourite things

Well, here's chapter 7. Once again, I'm thrilled to know people are enjoying my story. I really appreciate all your reviews!! Thanks so very much!!! It makes my writing to 5am worth while!!  
  
Chapter 7  
  
"Hey. I've been paging you."  
  
Max was surprised to have Logan meet her at the door as she walked into his penthouse.  
  
"Like, what else is new."  
  
She did her best to ignore the accusatory tone of his voice.  
  
Walking through to his kitchen she asked, "Can a girl get a drink'a water?" Not waiting for his reply, she grabbed one of the large glasses on hand next to the sink, and filled it.  
  
"Be my guest," said Logan with a touch of irony as he followed her.  
  
"So ... what was the dealio with the fire?"  
  
"Not much. I've got ... Bling picking up the security tapes. They might show something," he replied, his eyes taking in anything except her face.  
  
Max nodded. "So ... nothing happened?"  
  
Logan wheeled forward to have some water as well, very aware of Max's careful scrutiny. "Ah ... no." He shook his head as he spoke. "Why?'  
  
"You seemed kinda edgy when I rang this morning. Where'd you go?"  
  
"Go?"  
  
"You know, when they made you evacuate."  
  
"Oh. Then." Logan drank his water. Slowly. He then turned on the faucet and filled his glass a second time. Just at that moment he would have preferred something with more of a kick to it.  
  
Max waited 'patiently' while he drank his next glass. "So?"  
  
"Not much. We had some ... you know ... things to do." Even to Logan's ears it sounded awfully lame.  
  
Max motioned to the small bag she had with her. "I'm all ready for my slumber party tonight. I've even brought us a midnight snack," she added conspiratorially.  
  
"Not tonight," Logan replied abruptly, wishing for the safety of his computer screen, but doubting he could push himself that far without telltale signs.  
  
Feeling a bit disappointed Max said, "Okay, I guess you wanna work on those feeds. It doesn't have to be midnight you know – three, four, five a.m." She positively purred. "It's all the same to me!"  
  
She gave him one of her delightful smiles. If only he knew, it was a smile she rarely bestowed on anyone else. A special smile for Logan Cale, and he was about to wipe it from her face.  
  
"No, I mean not tonight at all."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"That's what I was paging you about. Bling is going to stay overnight." Seeing the look on her face, he floundered on, "I thought, you know, being Friday night an' all, you'd want to spend it at Crash."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Logan steeled himself to ignore the hurt in her eyes. The throbbing of his arm, bandaged and hidden under his loosely fitting sweater, gave him further impetus.  
  
"So, you can go out an' have a good time."  
  
"Sure." The mask had come down over her face now, hiding the pain. "Did he think so little of her that he thought she'd hang out at Crash, while some maniac was perhaps even now on his way up to do good his threats?  
  
At that moment, the door opened and Bling came in, instantly wishing he'd arrived ten minutes later.  
  
The look on both their faces said it all.  
  
"Hey Max."  
  
"Bling." Max gave him a small smile. Turning to Logan she said, "Well, I'll see you tomorrow maybe."  
  
Logan followed her to the door. As she was about to close the door after herself, she popped her head back in and looking directly into Logan's eyes, said in a soft voice, "Hey, stay safe."  
  
Logan would have preferred she had yelled at him.  
  
*********************************************  
  
Max never made it to Crash.  
  
Instead she found herself on the Space Needle, enjoying her 'midnight snack' alone  
  
********************************************  
  
Logan sipped his tea in front of the window, close to the dining table. Of course it had to be raining.  
  
He'd spent a miserable night, and now had had a miserable morning thanks to his arm. In the night it had throbbed with a vengeance, and this morning he had woken to find it stiff and sore, and he found he could do very little with it.  
  
Worse than that he felt miserable for the way he had treated Max. He could have just told her the truth. But ... he didn't. He didn't want to be faced with having to accept the fact that maybe Max had been right, and he certainly didn't want to face the fact that maybe Eyes Only was an easy mark – any pimp in the city could pick him off. What did Max call him – 'The great and powerful Eyes Only?'  
  
I don't think so.  
  
**********************************************  
  
"Hey, Logan, Bling, You boys awake. Everyone decent?"  
  
Logan released his brakes with an effort, and turned from the window.  
  
"Max?"  
  
She noticed the surprise in his voice, but also the underlying welcoming tone.  
  
"You're up early - thought I'd find you all tucked up in bed."  
  
She gave him a small, uncertain smile, still not entirely sure of her reception.  
  
"Not much time for sleep when you're trying to save the world," Logan grinned back.  
  
Nice, she thought, and then added aloud, "What about time for breakfast?"  
  
"That might be arranged."  
  
Bling came in at that moment, hearing their voices. "Did I hear someone mention breakfast? I've just made a delicious stack of pancakes."  
  
Max looked at Logan in surprise. "What's this? Logan Cale has surrendered his kitchen?"  
  
"It has been known to happen," Logan admitted.  
  
"You sure you're not coming down with something?" teased Max.  
  
Logan was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable about the way the conversation was going. He had determined to tell her the truth - he just didn't know how to go about it.  
  
"Hunger is about the only thing he's coming down with," put in Bling heartily. "Let's eat people."  
  
He slapped Logan on his shoulders as he spoke, then surreptitiously gave Logan a small push towards the table by the window. "You two sit here. I'll play waiter," he said, giving Logan the 'I hope you know what you're doing' look as he turned away to walk back to the kitchen.  
  
"Hey Bling, you've been hiding your light under a bushel. These are good enough to rival the master's," grinned Max, motioning towards Logan.  
  
"Well, that's the last time I let 'him' in my kitchen," replied Logan, putting his last bite of pancake in his mouth, and leaning back in his wheelchair contentedly.  
  
"I'm on kitchen detail," said Max, beginning to collect the dishes.  
  
"Fine with me," Bling laughed.  
  
"You gonna help?" she said, turning to Logan and smiling sweetly.  
  
Logan hesitated a beat, then said, "I'll wash later. I got something to do."  
  
If Max had noticed his momentary confusion, she said nothing, just stacked up more plates and headed to the sink. "No big dealio," she sang out. "I've got it covered."  
  
"How long you intending to keep this charade up?" Bling asked under his breath cuttingly as Max walked away.  
  
Logan at least had the grace to look guilty.  
  
Bling continued, "I have to head out and get some groceries. You need, milk and bread - anything else?"  
  
Logan shook his head absently.  
  
"Painkillers?"  
  
At that Logan looked up at him with an emphatic "No."  
  
"Okay. Just askin'. I'll see you in a little while."  
  
Logan heard him go out the door, so he was surprised to hear Bling return a few short moments later holding a letter in his hand. It was a yellow padded envelope, the writing the same as the other unwelcome messages Logan had received.  
  
"One of the security men just brought it up. He'd found it on the front desk." Bling looked at Logan seriously. "Do you want me to wait around?"  
  
"No. I got it thanks."  
  
Bling shrugged and headed out once more.  
  
*******************************************  
  
As Max ran the hot water into the sink, the thought crossed her mind that Logan didn't know how lucky he was to have decent hot running water, considering the effort she had to go to for just a hot bath. Enjoying the warmth of the water, she let it play over her hand.  
  
"Max!"  
  
Something in his voice made Max run, almost with a sense of panic, and Manticore soldiers never panic. She rushed into the study, ready to pounce, kick, attack ...  
  
"Logan!"  
  
With relief she saw Logan sitting in his wheelchair. "What is it?"  
  
"There, on the floor." He was pointing to a spot a few feet in front of him.  
  
"Wow. Impressive."  
  
"Kill it."  
  
Max was surprised by the intensity of his voice.  
  
"Kill it?"  
  
"Yes. Now."  
  
"Logan. It's one of God's creatures." Her tone was teasing now.  
  
"Yeah, well everyone's entitled to make one mistake." Logan looked at it with disgust.  
  
"Where'd it come from?" asked Max, peering at it closely.  
  
"In this letter."  
  
"It was sent to you?" she asked in surprise. "Logan it looks kinda dead already."  
  
"Stomp on it to be sure."  
  
"You want me to squash the evidence?"  
  
Logan tried hard to hold on to his patience. "If I could move my leg, I'd do it myself."  
  
"Why would anyone send you a half dead spider?"  
  
"Well, I imagine it wasn't half dead when they sent it," replied Logan dryly.  
  
Enlightenment dawned on Max's face. "This is about the letters, isn't it?"  
  
"'Fraid so."  
  
"Like I said, why would this guy send you a half dead spider?"  
  
Logan spoke with some difficulty. "I guess he ... 'knows' me."  
  
Max raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"I don't like spiders." The words came out rushed.  
  
Max tried hard not to grin.  
  
"The Great and Powerful Eyes Only, defender of the people, is afraid of ... "  
  
"I know, I know," quickly cut in Logan. "Kinda dumb huh?"  
  
When he looked like that she would have said 'kinda cute.'  
  
"Is there anything else you should tell me? How do you feel about ... say ... frogs?"  
  
"Horrible, green slimy things without a doubt – but I'm not afraid of them." There was a hint of exasperation in his tone.  
  
"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," she said kindly.  
  
The look he gave her should have warned her to be quiet.  
  
"Do you have an aversion to the species generally, or just big, brown, fat, furry ones like that one?" She managed to say every adjective with relish.  
  
Suddenly the enormity of the situation hit her. "Logan. How does this person know you don't like spiders?"  
  
Logan leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, his long fingers steepled in front of him.  
  
"This is all starting to become a little clearer," he said quietly.  
  
Something about the way he spoke made her look at him intently.  
  
"Max, this isn't about Eyes Only." He looked up at her. "It's personal - it's about me."  
  
TBC 


	8. Admission of Guilt

Well, I've been kind and haven't kept you in suspense for too long! Sorry about that! I've had a fabulous response to the last chapter. I'm glad you all enjoyed the spider. I hate them myself, so I can empathize with Logan on that one!  
  
Chapter 8  
  
"You know who's behind the letters?" asked Max breathlessly.  
  
"I wish!" was Logan's sardonic reply.  
  
"You wanna run this by me again?"  
  
"I don't know who ... I don't even know why."  
  
"Logan," said Max carefully, "this is not being real helpful."  
  
"I know the methodology, and the intent, as it were."  
  
He sat there, biting his lip as he did sometimes when he was deep in thought.  
  
"Earth to Logan. You were saying?" Her patience was rapidly evaporating.  
  
Logan took a deep breath. "Okay, let me run this by you. Firstly, I was sent letters, filled with a warning, right?"  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why what?"  
  
"If you intend to kill someone, why warn them first?"  
  
"To give them a chance to escape?" suggested Max hopefully.  
  
Seeing Logan's look she said, "Okay, okay – just hoping!"  
  
She then added seriously, "Manticore training: strike fear into the heart of your opponent."  
  
"So," said Logan, leaning back, "firstly, I receive death threats."  
  
Max winced inwardly as he said it.  
  
"Secondly, the noble Jack Slater turns up with plans to scare me, rough me up a bit."  
  
"He wasn't what you'd call a hard core criminal."  
  
"That's right, small time crook, petty stuff. Not a murderer. He was just icing on the cake."  
  
"Yuk!"  
  
"Thirdly we had the delivery of our furry, dead friend on the floor there."  
  
Max sounded skeptical. "You think this guy knows you because he sent you a spider? Seems a bit far- fetched. Sure he's not just some weirdo who gets his kicks by this sort of thing?"  
  
"Well, I would assume he 'does' get his kicks by this sort of thing."  
  
Logan leaned forward again, shifting slightly in his chair. "Actually," he continued, "there's more to it than that."  
  
Max recognized the tone. "Should I sit down?" she enquired with a hint of sarcasm.  
  
Reluctant to look at her, he swallowed hard. "It's about the fire yesterday."  
  
Max had gone very quiet and still.  
  
Logan now didn't dare look at her. For some reason he was finding the dead, (or dying as the case may be), arachnid, far less intimidating than her cold, hard stare.  
  
The thought came to him that if by some stroke of luck the writer of the threats didn't kill him – there was a good chance that Max probably would.  
  
"Bling and I were separated," he began. (Then in the manner of a reluctant horse being forced to take a jump) he said, "I waited in the lobby downstairs for him."(The horse was now rushing the fence, and scrambling over it wildly.) "Someone stuck a knife in my arm while I was there."  
  
He waited for the blast.  
  
"Were you hurt bad?"  
  
Logan looked up. The concern, fear, warmth in her voice had been totally unexpected.  
  
"I had a few stitches," he told her uncomfortably. "Anyway, the point is," (Well, he'd told her everything else, he might as well get it over and done with), the point is - I don't like needles either."  
  
"How many?"  
  
Logan looked at her surprised.  
  
"How many what?" he asked confused.  
  
"Stitches."  
  
"Oh." Tossing his head a little to the side he said, "Forty-two."  
  
"Yow!"  
  
Seeing her look he added, 'They were small ... you know."  
  
"And you didn't tell me?"  
  
"No," he replied, nervously running his hand over his unshaven face. Stealing a quick look at her face, all he saw was disappointment. "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time." He then added, "Not very bright huh?"  
  
She seemed to be staring straight at him, but her eyes were focused on a faraway place. Wherever it was, Logan thought, it couldn't be pleasant.  
  
"Max. I'm sorry."  
  
His words brought her gaze back to reality – away from the specter of his blood stained body that she cradled in her arms.  
  
"So," she said quietly, trying to pull herself together, and trying to hide the bitterness in her voice, "'The Great Eyes Only' is afraid of spiders and needles."  
  
"And don't forget heights. I already told you that one," he added, as if that would get him back in her good books.  
  
"Well, I guess we'll need to keep you away from the Space Needle while this guys around."  
  
She walked over to the window.  
  
It was easier to stare at strangers far below, than to look at the only person who had the capability of wounding her heart so effortlessly.  
  
The irony of the situation wasn't lost on her. To think she'd kept her heart guarded all these years, and the one person who somehow managed to break through her defenses was the one who caused her the most pain.  
  
Logan leaned forward, his head down, eyes regarding his feet, a small sarcastic smile playing on his lips as he looked at them.  
  
His thoughts were bitter for a moment  
  
He stole a quick look at Max. "You're doing real well here," he said to himself, "She comes over here, gives up her nights, her weekends to keep your sorry ass safe, and you can't even tell her the truth - great!"  
  
The stubborn part of him said, "I never asked her to do that!" - another voice said, "She comes because she cares."  
  
He wanted to believe the second voice. God knows he cared about her!  
  
He felt like he was standing on the Space Needle – he could either stay up here, alone, untouched, or he could risk stepping over the edge and see who caught him. She'd caught him once before - he'd felt the security of her arms around him. It had felt good.  
  
"Max."  
  
He'd started now, he'd have to continue - safer to keep your head down, don't look at her.  
  
"Max." he said again, with more intensity, his face displaying all the uncertainty he felt. He took a deep breath – had someone sucked all the oxygen out of the room? "I should have told you the truth. I'm sorry I didn't."  
  
Max turned around to face him. She wasn't going to make this easy for him.  
  
He risked looking at her, and then quickly looked away again.  
  
"The thing is – I didn't want to admit that you were right." He couldn't help wincing a little as he said it. This was more painful than his arm. "And you ' were' right. I just don't see what I can do about it. I don't see 'running away' as an option."  
  
"You don't have to do anything."  
  
She let a hint of sincerity creep into her voice, saying softly, "Why do you think you have a genetically enhanced killing machine at your disposal?" With something of her sassy smile she added confidently, "We can beat this bitch together."  
  
Logan risked a long look at her this time. The warmth was back in her eyes, and she found that same warmth mirrored in his.  
  
Max came round and sat on the couch in front of him. "We just gotta figure this thing out Logan." Max was all business now. "Why March 13? There must be something you know about that date – in your past maybe? You 'do' have a past don't you. It's not like you ever tell me very much," she couldn't resist saying.  
  
"I've spent days checking out March 13th, - haven't come up with a damn thing!"  
  
"It's a date. People principally mark dates to remember births, deaths, special events – even marriages," she added in a dulcet tone.  
  
He looked at her, wondering if he'd imagined the slight intonation she'd put on that last word. "Anyway," he said, slightly ruffled, "I've spent hours at the computer going over all those things, and the only thing I've got to show for it is a headache."  
  
"Maybe that's the problem Logan."  
  
He looked at her enquiringly.  
  
"Don't you see, the answer's not in your computer, it's in your head."  
  
"That's not very helpful."  
  
"You said this was personal."  
  
"And?"  
  
"You're just going to hafta remember."  
  
At her words, Logan looked more defeated. "I've tried! Still," he added, looking over at his computers and sighing, "I can always give it another try."  
  
"Uh uh."  
  
"Uh uh? I thought you wanted me to work this thing out!"  
  
"We were taught at Manticore to remember something hidden in it by totally clearing the rest of the mind from distractions. It's like a filing system – you keep pulling out the top files until you get to the one underneath."  
  
Logan looked skeptical. "And?"  
  
"So, do you feel up to a drive?"  
  
Logan looked at her quizzically, a smile beginning to grow on his face.  
  
***********************************************************  
  
They'd left the city behind them, and were heading out on a straight stretch of road.  
  
"Your arm feel okay?"  
  
It was throbbing slightly, but no worse than if he'd been at home. "It's fine," then he added, "thanks."  
  
Max smiled a little self-consciously.  
  
"Hey, do you really want to blow away the cobwebs?" she asked, her eyes glinting mischievously.  
  
"I'm not sure," was Logan's cautious answer.  
  
"Put your window down."  
  
Logan pressed the button and put it down a little.  
  
"Uh uh, all the way."  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her, but did it anyway. A rush of freezing cold wind immediately rushed into the car. Logan made a face. Max then put her window down, and then reached up and did the sun roof as well. At the high speed they were traveling, the wind blew in wildly, whipping Max's hair back from her face. She grinned appreciatively.  
  
"Almost as good as riding my motorbike," she yelled over at him.  
  
Logan looked at her and couldn't help laughing. He felt himself beginning to relax.  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"I've never seen anyone as beautiful as you!" was his immediate thought.  
  
"Well?" she asked again.  
  
"It's freezing. But kindah fun."  
  
She suddenly looked over at him and warmly, "You know, we're gonna figure this out."  
  
Logan shot a quick look at her again. With his eyes back on the road, he couldn't help smiling, that wide generous smile, the one when he was really happy.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
TBC  
  
I know, but I couldn't give too much away, or it will all finish too quickly! I'm beginning to enjoy myself!! 


	9. Burning Rubber

Well, here's chapter 9. Hope you enjoy it. Once again, thanks for all the reviews.  
  
Chapter 9  
  
"I know it's not your usual standard, but it's the best I could do," said Max, handing Logan a lukewarm hot dog.  
  
They'd parked the Aztek overlooking a wide expanse of beach, one of the few places untouched by the pulse. In summer, it was still a popular spot, but with the onset of winter, their only company was a rather decrepit hot dog van, and the ever -present squawking seagulls.  
  
Logan sniffed at his hot dog suspiciously. "Mmmm nice. Pre pulse," he said, looking sideways at Max who was wolfing hers down with a vengeance.  
  
He took a cautious bite, and then examined it once again. "Max, I think this has mold growing on it."  
  
Rolling her eyes, Max snatched it from him. After a perfunctory examination she declared it safe for consumption.  
  
"On second thought, I'm not really hungry. I think I'll stick with the coffee."  
  
"I'll eat it," said Max, doing so without hesitation. "Wow, you really were brought up with a silver spoon in your mouth, weren't you!"  
  
"I eat hotdogs," answered Logan a little defensively, "just not ones with green stuff growing on them."  
  
"Logan, there was nothing growing on it!" To prove her point she took another bite with relish.  
  
Logan looked at her as an herbivore would a carnivore.  
  
"Whatever," he replied, not convinced.  
  
"Just don't complain that you're hungry later on," she chided him.  
  
They both sat surveying the scenery before them. The wind had whipped up the seas surface so that waves jostled each other every which way, before finally crashing on the sand.  
  
"Mind if I stretch my legs for a minute?" asked Max.  
  
"Go right ahead." Logan gestured to the expanse of sand. "I got my laptop to keep me company."  
  
He made no attempt to grab it from the back seat however, but instead watched Max appreciatively as she ran down to the waters edge. She turned and waved to him, and then sprinted gracefully along the sand.  
  
With a sharp pang he wished he were out there with her.  
  
"Damn." He said the word aloud. Sometimes the desire to walk was so strong it was almost like a physical pain.  
  
Looking down he rubbed his hands along his thighs. With derision he wondered what had made him stupid enough to go up against Edgar Sonrisa.  
  
"Whoa, it's wild out there!" smiled Max, climbing back in some fifteen minutes later. "You tipped it right, stayin' all snug and warm in here."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
She looked at him quickly, then turned away again, not sure what to say.  
  
Logan never spoke directly about being in the wheelchair. He only hinted here and there that he found it difficult to cope with, yet here in the car, intuitively, she found his pain almost tangible.  
  
Stealing another look at his profile she said: "Probably gonna rain again." She cringed at the inadequacy of her own words.  
  
Logan leaned forward a little to get a good glimpse of the sky through the front windshield. "Yep."  
  
"You wanna get goin?"  
  
"Sure." He turned the key in the ignition, putting the car into reverse.  
  
"Hey!" she said, giving him her provocative smile. "Last chance to change your mind and grab one of those delicious hot dogs."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
They headed back into Seattle on the same road they'd driven out on, only this time all windows were firmly closed and the heater blazing, to warm Logan up. Most of the major artilleries had long been closed, thereby controlling the flow of traffic in and out of the city.  
  
Before long, they had left the serenity of the country behind – in more ways than one.  
  
As the number of dilapidated houses, disused shops, and run down factories increased, so too did Max's unease. It was as if they'd been in the eye of the storm, and now they were leaving that safe haven, traveling once more into the uncertainties of their situation.  
  
Abruptly Max asked, "Did anything show up on the security feeds for your building?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Not a thing to go on?" she asked, disbelief evident in her voice.  
  
"They were wiped clean," Logan stated matter of factly, emphasizing the last word.  
  
Looking straight ahead he continued, "The guy's a pro Max - nothing on the feeds, no one saw any letter dropped off, and no distinguishing marks on the other letters that arrived by mail."  
  
"Boy." She said the word with her usual sassy attitude, but inside her mind was racing: Just who was this guy!"  
  
As if reading her thoughts, Logan took a quick look at her. "Sure hope you're filing cabinet idea works."  
  
"Well, it works on Manticore trained soldiers. I'm not sure about mere mortals," she admitted tentatively.  
  
"Well," grinned Logan ruefully, "it's all we've got to go on."  
  
"Sector pass please."  
  
Logan reached up to the sun visor where he kept it, and handed it over to the guard. He could feel the rush of icy air through the window.  
  
The sector cop looked at them both carefully, and then proceeded to walk around the car. With pursed lips Logan sat back and folded his arms. Here was yet another checkpoint officer who'd let the 'grandeur' of his position go to his head.  
  
Seeing Logan's look Max put in, "He must have had a bad day – not enough little old ladies and mother's with children to pick on."  
  
Finally the sector cop came back, and with yet another suspicious look at them, finally gave Logan back his pass and waved them through.  
  
They drove on in silence. The ache in Logan's arm was becoming increasingly annoying. He tried to stretch it out surreptitiously, in an effort to relieve it, pressing his lips together as he did so.  
  
The movement wasn't lost on Max. "Your arm givin' you trouble?"  
  
"It's a tiny bit sore. Not too bad." Well, it was almost true.  
  
"You want me to drive – you get to admire the fancy scenery," she added with irony.  
  
"No. I'm fine with it."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
"Sure hope Bling's cooked us something yummy for dinner!" she said some time later.  
  
When Logan didn't answer immediately she quickly looked at him. He was preoccupied, staring at the rear vision mirror intently, and then swinging his eyes back to the road.  
  
"What's wrong?" asked Max quietly.  
  
"I think we may have a tail on us," replied Logan evenly.  
  
"How long for?"  
  
"We seem to have picked it up not long after we passed that checkpoint."  
  
They were off the main artillery now, headed through the fractured outer suburbs of Seattle.  
  
"Try a few turns," said Max, admirably keeping the tension she felt out of her voice.  
  
"'Have already – but I'll try a few more."  
  
Trying not to be too obvious, he did a sharp right, then a left at the next corner.  
  
The dark car behind them followed their every move.  
  
Logan looked at Max.  
  
"You think I should 'put my foot down?'" he asked, with an attempt at humour.  
  
"He knows where you live Logan," she pointed out.  
  
"You've got a point," he answered, his mind racing.  
  
Max looked about her. They were in a relatively abandoned industrial part of town – the last place she would have chosen to be in, given their present situation.  
  
"Can you see the driver?"  
  
Logan shook his head. "It's getting too dark. I can't even make out the type of car."  
  
Logan shot her a quick look. "You're the 'escape and evade' expert," he reminded her. "I'm just the journalist!"  
  
Max turned around in her seat to look at the car. Sure enough, there it followed, close behind them at every turn.  
  
She made a decision.  
  
Authoritatively she snapped "Logan. Do what I say. Left - here."  
  
Immediately Logan swung the car in a tight turn, accelerating hard out of it.  
  
"Right. Right Again. Hard left."  
  
"I hope you know where we're going!" yelled Logan at one point, over the din of the revving engine, small beads of perspiration on his forehead.  
  
Max didn't answer, calling out the next instruction instead. "Left. I said LEFT." She roared at him when he went to turn right by mistake.  
  
Logan concentrated intently, his left hand steering the car, his right hand operating the accelerator and brake.  
  
Logan could feel the other car gaining on them. Accelerating harder, Max suddenly yelled left. He spun the wheel hard, but the car was traveling way too fast. He could feel the back of it start to slide out uncontrollably, a brick wall looming perilously close to them. Resisting the urge to panic, he turned into the spin, and with relief could feel the car start to right it self. He drew a quick breath. He didn't dare look at Max.  
  
Max quickly looked behind. So far, so good. She briefly thanked her career as a Jam Pony courier for giving her an intimate knowledge of Seattle's streets.  
  
"Floor it Logan!" she ordered, not worrying about the inaccuracy of her request.  
  
The blue Aztec tore through the quickly falling darkness, engine screaming.  
  
"This is it. LEFT!"  
  
He swung hard once more, the back wheels skidding out, then gunned hard. With dismay he saw they were headed straight down a dead end alley, barely wide enough for one car. His eyes briefly noted the abandoned factories either side of them.  
  
Max was holding her breath. "Be open," she pleaded silently.  
  
Thank God! "Quick Logan. Right!"  
  
At first he looked in confusion, not understanding where she intended him to go, then in the gloom he could just make out an entrance into one of the factories. It was small, but big enough for the Aztek. As soon as the car was through and slowing, Max was out the door, rushing to close the double doors that would hide them.  
  
Already they could hear the sound of their pursuer coming down the narrow laneway. "Don't move," she hissed at Logan and was gone.  
  
Left alone in the darkness, he thumped the steering wheel of the car in frustration.  
  
Still inside the abandoned factory, Max ran the length of it towards the end of the laneway, peering through the filthy windows as she ran. She could see the car cautiously making its way into the cul-de-sac, which was so narrow there was no room for a car to turn.  
  
With her superior vision, she could see the driver staring intently around him, obviously searching for Logan. The dark car had slowed right down now.  
  
Timing the moment, she waited until the driver was distracted changing into reverse. With barely a pause, she hurled herself through the closest window, rolled up in a ball, and landing at the car door, which she immediately wrenched open, grabbing the occupant by the throat and hauling him out the door with a furious wrench.  
  
The driver had had the presence of mind to quickly grab for his gun that lay on the seat next to him, but never had so much as a chance to aim it at her as she viciously tore it from his grasp, and then delivered a knee, with Manticore speed, force and precision, to the man's groin. He immediately doubled over in pain, intermittently whooping for breath and groaning agonizingly.  
  
'Gee, I hope you weren't thinking of starting a family," she consoled him.  
  
She felt a small degree of satisfaction.  
  
It was short lived.  
  
Grabbing the man's face between her hands, she forced him to look up at her.  
  
His eyes were not green.  
  
"Who are you?" she screamed at him, her voice pulsing with both fury and disappointment. "Well?'  
  
The man looked as if he were about to collapse.  
  
Rolling her eyes she grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him unresistingly to where Logan anxiously waited.  
  
"Is that ... ?" began Logan tensely, watching her through the driver's window.  
  
Max spoke with disgust. "No. It's not him."  
  
Logan's disappointment mirrored her own.  
  
"Who is he then?"  
  
"I don't know. But I intend to find out!"  
  
Still holding the man, she grabbed a nearby packing crate, and sat him roughly down on it.  
  
"Okay. Out with it."  
  
"I don't know what you want," gasped the man.  
  
"Start with the truth! Who sent you to follow us?"  
  
Max looked at him closely, seeing a man in his forties, quite tall, with fairly nondescript features, and sandy coloured hair.  
  
Max could see he was a different type entirely to Jack Slater. This man could be dangerous. He regarded Max with disdain.  
  
Max immediately hauled him to his feet. The force of the blow she sank into his stomach quickly wiped the expression from his face.  
  
When he could finally stand up he looked at her with more respect.  
  
"We'll try again big boy. Who's greasin' your palm?"  
  
The man appeared to see the wisdom of co-operation. Still clutching his midriff he managed to rasp out, "Don't know his name. He came up to me at the bar. Offered me $1000 to follow your car if I saw it."  
  
"When was this?" questioned Logan.  
  
"This morning, around eleven a.m."  
  
Logan looked at Max. "He saw us leave," he conjectured.  
  
"Logan, I'm sure we weren't followed on the way out. I checked."  
  
"No, but maybe he saw us leave and just took a lucky guess. There aren't many roads out of Seattle nowadays."  
  
Max's face was like thunder.  
  
"What did this guy look like?"  
  
"Tall, well dressed."  
  
Max swore under her breath.  
  
"He had real weird green eyes too."  
  
Max felt her self go cold.  
  
"What did you say?" she grabbed the man, her voice almost throbbing with emotion.  
  
Daunted by her attitude, he answered quickly, "Green eyes. I dunno, there was something about them. The sort of eyes you don't forget."  
  
Her eyes locked with Logan's. "It's him," she mouthed silently.  
  
"What were your instructions?" asked Logan quietly.  
  
"I told you already," he grumbled.  
  
"Then tell us again," Max insisted, giving him a whack over the head.  
  
The driver took one look at her and said, "Okay. He gave me the make and registration number of your car. All I had to do was sit near the checkpoint, and if I saw you, follow your car and threaten you. Nothing too serious, just enough to give you a bit of a fright."  
  
"And the gun?" asked Max dangerously.  
  
"That's mine. Nothin' to do with the job."  
  
"You weren't planning on using it?"  
  
"Nah, I tell ya. It's my gun. Guns weren't part of your deal. Look," he added, seeing their disbelieving faces, "the guy said no guns. Just - intimidate."  
  
"What's your name?" asked Logan from the car.  
  
The driver hesitated for a moment, but when Max made an intimidating step towards him, he said quickly "Rawlings. Stephen Rawlings."  
  
Logan had his laptop out, and after a few moments, while Rawlings waited, nervously, he said "Bingo. Stephen Rawlings," he read out, "wanted in California, Missouri, Texas and not to mention Arizona. You're a popular boy," Logan finished dryly.  
  
"What's that got to do with anything?"  
  
"It means you're history." Logan closed the laptop with a snap.  
  
The driver was sitting back on the crate, obviously worse for wear.  
  
Without warning Max kicked the crate out from under him and sent him sprawling to the floor.  
  
"Forget the car. Forget the registration. Forget this ever happened. Or we will make life very uncomfortable for you!"  
  
Rawlings appeared to take the threat seriously. He couldn't get in his car fast enough.  
  
Max came back from seeing him leave. She opened up the doors, silently thanking Sketchy on insisting she come down here one day a few weeks back, for some grandiose, make-it-rich quick scheme he had.  
  
Logan was waiting silently in the car.  
  
"Well, that was fun," he murmured, staring ahead into the darkness.  
  
"Never knew you were such a hot shot behind the wheel."  
  
Logan nodded, smiling faintly.  
  
"He's playin' us Max."  
  
"Strike fear into the heart of your opponent." she quoted softly.  
  
TBC 


	10. Insight

As usual my many thanks to my committed reviewers, and any first timers - I SO appreciate them! Here's my next chapter. I'm not sure when I'm going to get my Christmas shopping done - I'm spending all my time at the computer!!  
  
Chapter 10  
  
It was well and truly dark by the time they arrived back at Fogle Towers, the rain Max had predicted earlier, falling heavily through the sky, caught in the car's headlights like thousands of sparkling diamonds.  
  
The mechanical, rhythmic whirring of the windshield wipers beat a steady tattoo on Max's troubled thoughts.  
  
She had said very little the rest of the way home.  
  
Sensing a little of what she was thinking, Logan said gently, "Well, the first part of the drive was relaxing."  
  
"Yeah, well we should never have gone out in the first place," Max snapped back at him. "What the hell was I thinking of?" she berated herself.  
  
"You were thinking a drive in the fresh air would be a good idea," said Logan evenly. "That's what 'normal' people do."  
  
"Yeah, well maybe we're not normal."  
  
Max jabbed vindictively at the button for the penthouse.  
  
It was a quiet ride in the elevator to Logan's apartment, each of them preoccupied with their own thoughts.  
  
Max had taken every precaution when they'd returned to the parking lot, refusing to let Logan out until she'd done a thorough check of the area, despite his protests.  
  
"Max, this guy could have taken me out any time he wanted to."  
  
"Don't talk like that!" she'd rounded on him, angrily.  
  
"Max. I hardly think being gunned down in a parking lot is his idea of style. The guy's a showman - theatrical."  
  
"Yeah, well I'd like to show him a few 'theatrical' moves myself!" With that she got out of the car, and in a voice that brooked no argument said, "Wait here till I give the all clear."  
  
Logan waited impatiently, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "You quite done?" he'd asked with a hint of sarcasm when she returned.  
  
"For the moment," she replied coolly, her eyes still scanning the area as she spoke.  
  
She knew there was a certain amount of truth to what Logan had said, going by the previous MO, but if there was one thing she'd learnt at Manticore, it was never underestimate your enemy, and you could never put a value on the element of surprise.  
  
Her primary goal was to see Logan safely to his apartment, and, if she had her way, make sure he stayed there until this mess was sorted out.  
  
She waited with growing nervousness as Logan set up his wheelchair and transferred to it. Favouring his sore arm, it took him that little while longer and she was almost ready to damn his pride and take matters into her own hands, when finally he was ready, and they made their way, with a silence that spoke volumes, to the penthouse.  
  
Bling was there to greet them when they came in. "Well, you two have a good ... time?" he went to ask, but stopped short when he saw their somber faces.  
  
"You had trouble?" he asked instead.  
  
"You might say that," replied Logan, wheeling past him, laptop on his knee.  
  
Max watched Logan head into his computer room, a look on her face that was hard to read, and then turned to Bling, "I'll fill you in on it if you make me coffee."  
  
*********************************************************  
  
Going in search of Logan some time later, Bling found him sitting in front of the huge windows in the living area, his face pensive.  
  
He looked up when he saw Bling.  
  
"I need to change the dressing on your arm. D'you want me to do it now, or after dinner?"  
  
"Later'll do," was the disinterested reply.  
  
Bling went to walk away, but turned as Logan said, "Bling."  
  
The trainer looked down at the man in front of him. He thought he knew what was coming.  
  
"Max filled you in on what went down this afternoon?"  
  
Bling nodded.  
  
Logan spun around so that he was fully facing him. "Bling," he said with some difficulty, "I don't exactly have a good track record with bodyguards."  
  
"Since when was changing a bandage life threatening?"  
  
"You're not making this easy for me," complained Logan.  
  
"You wanna fire me?" challenged Bling.  
  
"Bling ..." said Logan uncomfortably.  
  
"You don't like my cooking?"  
  
Logan just looked at him.  
  
"Good, then if you make your way to the table, we can have dinner." Thus putting an end to the conversation he turned and walked away.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
You would hardly describe dinner as a sparkling affair.  
  
Logan seemed to poke at his dinner rather than eat it.  
  
Max ate hers, but spent a good deal of the time staring out the window she was facing.  
  
Between the two of them, Bling had a hard time getting any sort of conversation going.  
  
It was during one of the frequent, long and painful silences that Logan's cell phone rang.  
  
Pushing himself back with his arms he let himself roll back from the table, and spun around so that his back was turned towards the others.  
  
Eating her meal, Max could naturally hear Logan's side of the conversation.  
  
"Hey Matt ... Really?... That's great ...You think he's on  
  
the level?...Good ... When?" At this point Logan paused for a second, before  
  
replying: "Sure, what time?... Monday 4pm ... Okay, I'll hear from you."  
  
Putting the phone back in his lap, Logan returned to the table. The meal before him was suddenly very interesting.  
  
Feeling Max's eyes on him, he eventually shot her a quick look.  
  
It was the opportunity she'd been waiting for. "Was that Matt Sung?" she asked him, in a polite voice.  
  
"Uh huh." Logan returned to studying his food.  
  
"You wouldn't have arranged to meet him at anytime in the near future?" she asked, a hint of provocation in her voice.  
  
"As a matter of fact, I have," replied Logan, unable to keep the sharpness out of his own.  
  
Without a word, but a look that said everything, Max abruptly got up and took her plate to the sink, where she proceeded to wash it and anything else at hand, with great vengeance.  
  
Bling gave Logan a long, slow look.  
  
"Do you think that's wise?" he asked in a low voice.  
  
"I think it's important," Logan contradicted him.  
  
********************************************************  
  
Bling cleared the remainder of the dishes from the table, and then returned to Logan who was staring moodily out the window. In his hand he carried bandages and other paraphernalia. Logan, seeing his intent pulled a face, but slipped his right arm out of his sleeve, frowning slightly as he did so.  
  
Gently Bling unrolled the current bandage on Logan's arm, revealing the long slash mark that went three quarters of the way down Logan's upper arm, the dark stitches adding to the grotesque appearance of the injury.  
  
He wasn't entirely happy with what he saw. "You're going to need to rest this arm a bit more if you want it to heal quicker than this."  
  
"I'm doin' the best I can," Logan bit back.  
  
Looking around for his scissors, Bling realized he'd left them on the kitchen counter.  
  
"Max, would you mind bringing those scissors over here?" he called.  
  
He saw Logan throw him a very annoyed look, which he blithely ignored.  
  
"Here you go Bling."  
  
Max handed the scissors over, at the same time unable to resist having a look at Logan's arm. It was far worse than she had suspected. She felt that familiar twist in her stomach, her eyes momentarily meeting Logan's. Something of her concern must have shown in her eyes, because Logan immediately said, "It looks worse than it is."  
  
Controlling herself, she waited till Bling had finished his ministrations, and was packing them up in the kitchen.  
  
With an angry gesture towards the arm she spat out, "And you want to go out and meet Matt Sung? 'You got a death wish?"  
  
"Matt Sung has set up an interview with an informant who has solid information on Heinrich Bueller."  
  
"So! I'm supposed to care?"  
  
"Heinrich Bueller happens to be the man behind a major crime syndicate operating here in Seattle, and I've been trying to arrange this for 6 weeks." Logan's frustration was beginning to show.  
  
"Then surely another few days won't matter until we sort this bitch out!"  
  
"It's all about fear Max. This is what he wants - he's a player." Through his anger, Logan tried to sound like the voice of reason.  
  
"Damn straight it is. And you know something - it's working," said Max with cool sarcasm.  
  
"Well, I for one, am not going to be dictated to by an emotion!" Logan didn't bother to hold his anger back now.  
  
"Well what about some old fashioned common sense!" Nor did Max.  
  
"Well I haven't noticed YOU putting your life on hold every time some goon from Manticore shows up!"  
  
She wanted to say – But I'm not in a wheelchair, with every crime boss in the city looking for me!!  
  
As she bit back the words, a revelation hit her with a force that stunned her: it wasn't because Logan was in a wheelchair that she worried, she worried simply because he was Logan.  
  
Logan had been more accurate than he knew. It 'was' personal - it was all about 'him'.  
  
The force of the emotion scared her. "You're losin' it girl!" she thought to herself.  
  
Logan watching her had no idea what was going through her head, but all he could see when he looked at those brown eyes was that she was distressed, and once again he knew he was the cause of it.  
  
"If you're so intent on playing bodyguard, you could always come along." As far as invitations went, it was hardly gracious, but then, Logan wasn't one to give in easily.  
  
"Yeah, sure," replied Max, suddenly confused about everything. All she knew was that it was dangerous to be in his presence.  
  
"I guess you've got some Eyes Only stuff to do on this guy. I'll leave you to it."  
  
Turning around she added, "I know Bling's here tonight, but after today, I think it would be a good idea if I stayed as well."  
  
Logan shrugged. "Have it your way."  
  
******************************************************************  
  
Logan sat at his computer and tried to work, but for some reason his mind was having a hard time processing the information before him. He told himself it was the constant twinge of pain in his arm every time he moved it, rather than the fact that Max was playing chess with Bling in the next room.  
  
Instead of the computer screen he was seeing: her face, her relaxed pose, her hand moving the chess piece with precision, the confident little half smile that played upon her lips, her eyes regarding Bling, waiting for his next move.  
  
At that thought he hit the key with unnecessary force, only to realize that he'd exited the screen he'd wanted and had lost some important unsaved information.  
  
"Dammit."  
  
"You okay in there?" came Bling's voice.  
  
"Sure. Fine," Logan replied darkly.  
  
He could hear them laughing now, Bling acknowledging his defeat.  
  
"You play a good game." Her voice was complimentary.  
  
Bling laughed again. "I know I'm not up to Logan's standard."  
  
"I don't know, you seem to make all the right moves."  
  
Logan rubbed at the back of his head, then moved to touch the mouse, hesitated, frowned again, looked at the screen unseeingly, and then tapped spitefully with his backspace bar as he removed the information he's just entered.  
  
*How was it she could make the simplest words sound so provocative!*  
  
"Go figure!" he muttered, answering his own rhetoric.  
  
Going back to the screen, he realized after some minutes, that he was only staring at it blankly again. Giving up life, the universe, and everything as a waste of time, he shut down the computer, and wheeled himself around to where they were playing.  
  
"I'm goin' to bed," he announced abruptly.  
  
Without missing a beat, Max said, "Good night."  
  
Bling got up, excusing himself to Max.  
  
"I don't need any help," Logan's words halted him.  
  
"That's what I'm here for," answered Bling patiently.  
  
"I'll shower in the morning."  
  
Not willing to press it, judging by Logan's attitude, the trainer simply said, "Well, just call if you need me during the night."  
  
Not wanting to be reminded in front of Max that even the simple act of turning over in bed was difficult for him with his arm so sore, he mumbled a good night and left them to their game.  
  
****************************************************************  
  
Logan looked over at the clock beside his bed. Squinting without his glasses, the numbers appeared slightly blurred, but with frustration he read them to be 3:57 a.m. He wondered what had induced him to go to bed so early - well, early for him anyway.  
  
He remembered his last thought being, "I should change my position," when he realized he was jolting awake again.  
  
Just in that infinitesimal fragment of time between waking and sleeping, two words crept into his consciousness, and the final files were pulled back to reveal that which had been locked in his memory since he was a student at Yale.  
  
TBC 


	11. March 13

Yes, I've ignored the Christmas shopping to be kind to all my faithful readers! I think I must have a sadistic streak in me, thus the tendency to write cliffhangers – Sorry. All my thanks again for the reviews - I absolutely LOVE your feedback!!  
  
Chapter 11  
  
The small whirlpool of brown liquid swirled around and around, and in fact swirled around so long it was in danger of becoming cold.  
  
Eyes coffee rich in colour, stared into it.  
  
Hearing a sound, the hypnotic trance broken, Max immediately put the spoon down. Looking up she stood perfectly still, her senses on alert, the brown eyes wide with anticipation. On hearing the noise again, she seemed to relax the barest amount, quietly walking around to where she'd heard the familiar sound.  
  
Just as she reached the door she sought, it opened.  
  
Logan looked up, slightly confused to see her at the door of his bedroom.  
  
"Heard a noise," she said by way of explanation.  
  
Logan nodded absently and proceeded to make his way into the kitchen.  
  
"Couldn't sleep?" asked Max helpfully  
  
"Something like that," he responded.  
  
"I just boiled water for a hot drink. You want one?"  
  
He didn't answer her, his mind obviously far removed from a penthouse in Seattle.  
  
Max studied him for a moment. He had that just woken look, hair awry, (well, that wasn't so unusual), unshaven, (well, that wasn't unusual either), and wearing a plain grey tracksuit and thick grey socks.  
  
"Is it possible to 'sleep-wheel?' by any chance?"  
  
She saw his lips twitch slightly. Ignoring her last remark, he said "Tea. Thanks."  
  
Max took their hot drinks through to the living room where she set Logan's down on the low table. Sitting herself, feet curled up beneath her on the couch, she watched him closely. He made no attempt to drink his tea, his eyes still with that distant look, both hands still resting on the rims of his chair.  
  
"Well I know what 'my' excuse is for being awake at four in the morning, but what's yours?"  
  
"March thirteenth," he said simply.  
  
Max gave a small gasp. Leaning closer to him she said, "Logan, you know what it means?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"You 'are' gonna tell me?" she prompted  
  
He nodded again, but continued to stare ahead, frowning into the past - perhaps a past he had no desire to return to.  
  
Max watched him: impatient to know what he had to say, but being sympathetic to his mood, she waited.  
  
Eventually, with a quick, nod of his head, as if he were answering some unspoken dialogue, he started speaking.  
  
"I was at Yale, studying journalism - It was just before The Pulse," he began. "The country was already falling into chaos. The government was being infiltrated by men whose agenda was, well let's just say, unethical to say the least."  
  
Leaning forward, he picked up a book of matches from the table – a reminder of their 'picnic.' It seemed a long time ago. Reluctantly he returned to his story.  
  
"We were a small group of students ... you know ... keen to change the world." He gave a small self -deprecating laugh.  
  
"So what's changed?" she asked slyly.  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her.  
  
"Anyway," he continued, "the leader of our group was Robert Carlisle, Bobby. He was," and Logan smiled at the memory, "incredibly popular, good looking, charismatic ... "  
  
"And what were you?" she interrupted him.  
  
"Oh, I was the nerdy journalist major with glasses."  
  
Max considered him for a moment, "Why do I 'so' not believe that?"  
  
Logan grinned. "Well, I think Bobby cast everyone in the shade."  
  
He spoke seriously, "You know he really believed one day he'd be president."  
  
Logan's face clouded over as he spoke.  
  
"What happened?" asked Max quietly.  
  
Logan took a deep breath. "He was killed ... murdered," he added, trying to sound matter of fact, but she could hear the underlying pain in his voice.  
  
Eventually he continued, "Bobby was very concerned about the influence of syndicate men in the government. He was ... fanatical ... about it." Logan paused for a moment, rubbing the unshaven stubble on his chin with his hand.  
  
Watching him, Max noted how expressive his face was when he spoke; all the quirky little expressions he made with his eyes, and mouth; the way he would raise his eyebrows, sometimes singularly, at others both, to prove a point, or show surprise, or disdain, or a hundred other emotions.  
  
He was talking again now, turning the box of matches over end to end with the fingers of his right hand and she swung her concentration back to what he was saying.  
  
"He organized a big rally to speak against governmental corruption."  
  
Looking directly into Max's eyes, he said calmly, "It was to be held on March Thirteenth."  
  
"Was?"  
  
Logan swallowed. 'Here comes the hard part' thought Max.  
  
"About a week before the rally, he came to me ' reeel' excited ... told me that he had irrefutable evidence of syndicate infiltration at senior government levels." Logan bit his lip momentarily, and then continued. "He insisted I write an article, and send it to all the leading newspapers of the time, highlighting the degree of infiltration, and stating that he held in his possession, the means to discredit the administration of the time."  
  
Logan shook his head. "He was so ... on fire about the whole thing. I can still hear him: We're gonna get them Logan, we're going to bring 'em down."  
  
He gave a short derisive laugh. "Two days, maybe three days later, he was dead."  
  
He paused for a moment then said, "The rally was cancelled – on March Thirteenth we held his funeral instead."  
  
He stopped twirling the book of matches. "I learnt the hard way the power of the pen," he finished softly.  
  
"It wasn't your fault Logan that some bad ass creep killed your friend."  
  
Logan raised his eyebrows in a dismissive gesture. "I guess we were all naïve - not the best way to learn a lesson though," he added, the pain still fresh in his voice as if it had happened yesterday.  
  
"The killer?"  
  
"Never caught, never brought to justice. Ho hum."  
  
"What did his family do?"  
  
Looking thoughtful, Logan remembered, "I'm pretty sure all he had was a brother, some bigwig financier or something, I never met him. Then there was Gracie." His face softened at the word.  
  
Noncommittally, Max asked, "Who was she?"  
  
"Bobby's fiancé. She was beautiful. I think we were all half in love with her at the time."  
  
She noted how the small smile lit his eyes.  
  
Max looked across at him. "So," she said carefully, "You think someone blames you for his death?"  
  
"It does seem the obvious scenario."  
  
"Why now? Why not back then?" It didn't make any sense.  
  
Logan was back to twirling the book of matches. "I guess that's what I have to find out," he sighed, half glancing towards his computer as he spoke.  
  
"Well not tonight hot shot."  
  
Logan looked at her in surprise.  
  
"Tonight, or rather this morning, you need your beauty sleep."  
  
Unexpectedly, he rubbed the back of his head, and said dryly, "Yeah."  
  
As Logan got to his bedroom door, he turned to her and said, 'Did I tell you the name of my article?"  
  
Seeing the negative headshake he continued,  
  
"I borrowed the title from an old Alistair MacLean book I'd read when I was a teenager."  
  
Max looked at him enquiringly.  
  
"It was called – 'Fear is the Key'."  
  
At that he turned and wheeled back into his bedroom.  
  
***********************************************************  
  
Sleep didn't come quickly to Logan.  
  
"Look at you, you're lucky to be alive." Some of the last words Nathan Herrero had spoken to him.  
  
Nathan dead. Bobby dead.  
  
Hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling he wondered how many others were dead because of something he'd written or some Eyes Only cable hack he'd broadcast.  
  
Four, seven, twenty-seven?  
  
The good and bad alike, surely they were all somebody's brother, uncle, father ... son.  
  
Who was keeping tally?  
  
Probably no one on this earth he mused.  
  
The front door was totally ineffective at withstanding the onslaught it faced.  
  
They came in without speaking, dressed in black – masked and menacing. Logan tried to roll back, but found to his rising concern that he wasn't in his wheelchair. He looked around frantically for Max. They were coming closer now. Instinctively he braced himself for the attack.  
  
Crash!!  
  
Immediately wide-awake, Logan struggled up on to his elbows. He couldn't entirely bite back the grunt of pain as his injured arm took the weight of his body.  
  
He noticed his heart was thumping wildly.  
  
There was no other sound now, and he wondered if he'd imagined the sound that had jarred him awake.  
  
"Logan?" It was Max's voice speaking softly at the door.  
  
He breathed a huge sigh of relief.  
  
"Yeah," he answered, trying to sound normal. "You can come in, I'm decent."  
  
She poked her head around the door, looking contrite.  
  
"Did the noise wake you? I busted two coffee mugs," she confessed.  
  
"Only two?" His breathing was back to normal now.  
  
"The good news is I actually dropped four, but only two broke," she smiled disarmingly.  
  
With visions of masked men with guns breaking into his apartment still fresh in his mind, he wouldn't have cared if she'd broken every piece of crockery he owned.  
  
"It's fine," he assured her.  
  
"You okay?" she asked, and if he hadn't been so flustered he probably would have been touched by the look of concern on her face.  
  
"I'm fine ... just woke with a start, that's all ...you know."  
  
Max nodded. "Will I send Bling in?"  
  
"That'd be great, thanks."  
  
Logan pulled himself upright as Bling came in.  
  
"You all ready to start the day?" asked his trainer brightly.  
  
Logan took one look at him, his own face like thunder. "What are you so cheerful about?"  
  
*****************************************************************  
  
"So - What's your plan Stan?" asked Max, biting into an apple. "You still in touch with these peeps?"  
  
"I haven't seen any of them in years," admitted Logan, finishing off his breakfast.  
  
Max wasn't surprised to hear that.  
  
Pushing himself to his computer he said over his shoulder, "I think I've still got Gracie's number."  
  
I'm definitely not surprised to hear 'that' thought Max.  
  
Sitting in Logan's computer chair, she watched him scrolling through his addresses, eyes intent on the screen.  
  
"Here we go," he murmured, reaching for his phone.  
  
Punching the numbers in, she wondered if he looked a bit tense.  
  
After a few moments he said, "Gracie?...It's Logan."  
  
He smiled suddenly, and after the dark humour he'd been in last night, it was as if the sun had come out. Max felt a small stab of ... well, something. The word wouldn't quite form in her mind. It couldn't be the 'J' word, she rebuked herself.  
  
At the other end of the phone line, a vivacious, woman with auburn hair and brown eyes, was trying to control two small children, who had naturally decided to debate ownership of a rather worn stuffed bear, with only one eye. "Logan, It's been ages. How are you?"  
  
"I'm fine. And you?"  
  
"Wonderful! Bret and I got married nearly five years ago. You remember Bret?"  
  
Logan could hear the happiness in her voice. "We have two kids!! Can you believe that!!"  
  
"Wow, two kids!" he smiled. "That's great."  
  
"What about you? You still writing? I don't hear anything from you anymore." There was a slight hint of reproach to her words. "What about the sailing?"  
  
"Yes, I still write, and no, I don't sail anymore," he said, trying to keep his voice even, his glance darting to Max.  
  
He could hear the noise of the two children in the background. "I'm sorry Logan," Grace was saying, "I've got a civil dispute I'm working on right now." Her laugh was silvery as it came down the line. "What about you, has the eminently desirable Mr Logan Cale been snared yet?"  
  
"Er no. Not yet." He was glad Max could only hear his half of the conversation.  
  
"So, why the call out of the blue?" He could hear the note of intrigue in her voice.  
  
"Actually, I'm just trying to catch up with come of the old gang."  
  
"Bobby, give that back to your sister!!" he heard her say firmly.  
  
"Bobby, is he your eldest?" Logan asked, his tone softening.  
  
He could hear the changed note in her voice too. "Yeah. You know it was ten years this year."  
  
Logan didn't answer her.  
  
"We were a bunch of idealistic hot heads, weren't we!"  
  
"Yeah," was the most he could bring himself to say.  
  
He heard the pause on her end of the line, and then she said, "You know I never blamed 'you' for what happened to Bobby."  
  
Max could see Logan's jaw muscle tensing. All he said was, "Yeah, I know."  
  
She had a fair idea of what was going down. She was so used to having him mask his true feelings that she was surprised to catch the look of vulnerability on his face. Instinctively, for his sake, she looked away.  
  
When she looked up again, he was busy writing something into a notepad.  
  
"What about Bobby's brother, Vincent, 'you ever hear from him? ... Okay. That's great. Thanks. Well if I'm ever in Washington, I'll look you up."  
  
Max raised her eyebrows skeptically at that comment.  
  
"Bye."  
  
"Well, d'you get anything?"  
  
"She gave me the number of Kyle Davidson. As luck would have it, he's here in Seattle."  
  
"Isn't that a little too convenient?" she asked, immediately suspicious,  
  
"I don't think so. We both came from Seattle - it's not entirely unusual that he should have drifted back here."  
  
"What about his brother?"  
  
Logan shook his head. "No luck there," he replied, stretching his shoulder muscles as he spoke, and wondering vaguely why he felt so tense after a simple phone call.  
  
He looked at the phone number and address on the notepad in front of him.  
  
Kyle Davidson.  
  
He felt the tension returning to his shoulders.  
  
"Are you gonna call?" asked Max, watching the telltale signs.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Logan picked up the phone decisively.  
  
TCB 


	12. Kyle

Thanks, thanks, thanks again for all the reviews - still no Christmas shopping done, but what the heck!!!  
  
Chapter 12  
  
Logan perused the number in the notebook, two fingers on his left hand tapping nervously on the desk in front of him.  
  
He appeared to be waiting for something.  
  
He cast a surreptitious look in Max's direction to see what she was up to, noting that she showed no sign of removing herself from his immediate vicinity.  
  
He scratched his head for a minute, squinted in her direction, and then eventually said in the tone of one under considerable duress, "I'm gonna call him."  
  
"You said that all ready."  
  
Max watched him press his lips together, which she knew from experience meant he was suppressing some deep-seated emotional conflict, that was buried deep in his self-consciousness. So naturally, she acted dumb.  
  
Logan looked at Max. "You intending to listen in on 'every' conversation I have today?"  
  
She looked at him innocently. "Only the ones that are interesting, you know, old girlfriends, school buddies, that sort of thing. "  
  
"Grace was 'not' an old girlfriend," he interrupted her.  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"You're very 'perky' all of a sudden."  
  
"It suits me better to be the hunter, not the hunted."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"And," she said, leaning down till her face was close to his, "If you wanna make your call in private, all you hafta do is ask - nicely."  
  
********************************************  
  
"So, how'd it go?" Max asked him a short while later. "You look less tense."  
  
"I wasn't tense."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"It's just that we hadn't spoken for a long time," he explained.  
  
"You don't have to explain to me Logan."  
  
"He's kinda hard to talk to on the phone," he enlarged.  
  
"Logan, I get your message. And?"  
  
"We didn't discuss much." Logan looked uncomfortable. "I arranged to meet him at his place."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"He wouldn't come here."  
  
Max just looked at him.  
  
"I know you'd prefer it if we didn't have to go out, but you also said you preferred to be the hunter, not the hunted.  
  
She couldn't deny it, and for the first time in days she felt like they were finally getting somewhere close to clearing this up.  
  
"Okay, "she finally acquiesced, but you do things 'my way' – got that straight?"  
  
She thought she heard him grunt, which she took to be a 'yes.'  
  
************************************************************************  
  
"So, you've known this guy long?"  
  
"We went through school together."  
  
"Wow, old school friends! I didn't know you had it in you!"  
  
Logan gave her a sideways glance, as he slowed the car down for the intersection they were heading into.  
  
"I thought you were too busy saving the world to have boyhood friends," she continued irrepressibly.  
  
"Well, I wouldn't exactly call us friends."  
  
"Do I smell a mystery? A Cale family secret perhaps?"  
  
"Nothing as romantic as that I'm afraid. We just never got on. You know how kids can be."  
  
"No. Tell me."  
  
Logan sighed. She was in one of her 'difficult' moods. He decided it was preferable to her yelling at him.  
  
Logan thought back to his school days, and how he could best describe Kyle Davidson. Turning the car smoothly around the next corner he said, "He was kinda the competitive type."  
  
"And he chose you to compete against?" asked Max with insight.  
  
Logan looked across at her, smiling a little. "I guess you could say that," he admitted.  
  
"Well, you gotta admit he had good taste." Logan looked at her suspiciously to see if she was being sarcastic.  
  
"Why the title?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Fear is the Key!" She stressed the first and final words.  
  
"It seemed fitting at the time. That's how the syndicate operated; it was all bullying, stand over tactics. You know - 'Do it our way or we rip your fingernails off ' type stuff."  
  
"Ugh."  
  
"Subtlety wasn't high on their list of 'things to do'."  
  
Max was thoughtful. "What I don't understand is why they didn't kill you as well?"  
  
Logan thought back. "Yeah, I know. They could have gone the 'kill the messenger' route – but they didn't."  
  
"We're nearly there," he digressed, looking out the window for street signs.  
  
"Were you afraid?" Max asked, suddenly serious.  
  
She watched his eyes.  
  
After a pause he said, "It wasn't what you'd call 'pleasant'." Then in a flash of honesty he unexpectedly turned to her and said, "Yeah. I was afraid. None of us had ever come up against something like that before."  
  
"Is that why you weren't afraid to go up against Sonrisa?"  
  
She thought she'd pushed too far for the moment. She saw the hard, closed look come over his face, then as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. "Who said I wasn't afraid to go up against Sonrisa?" he asked her softly.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
"This is where he lives?" Max wrinkled her nose in distaste. "You sure this is right?"  
  
Pulling the torn out notebook page from his jacket, and quickly reading it, he said, "This is the address he gave me."  
  
He passed the page on to Max, who read it in turn.  
  
"It's not what you'd call up market." She got out of the car, removing Logan's wheelchair from the back. "I thought you said he went to Yale with you."  
  
"Well, that doesn't mean the guys a millionaire." Thinking back he said, "I've got an idea Kyle was there under a scholarship scheme."  
  
"Don't you know?"  
  
"We never talked about it."  
  
"Only people with more money than they need don't talk to other people about the money they don't have," she murmured cryptically as she waited for him.  
  
Logan noticed the way her attitude changed slightly now they were out of the car, her eyes constantly searching; her manner relaxed, but prepared.  
  
Kyle Davidson lived in a run down apartment block of sorts. It was in that state of decay where it was hard to decide if it was falling down, or being taken down. It stood 5 stories high, but it looked unlikely it would stand for much longer. Most of the windows were broken, and it was hard going for Logan to even wheel up the front path to the foyer doors because of the amount of rubble on the ground.  
  
Max looked down at him. "You did check for..."  
  
"Yes, there 'is' a working elevator among this pile of ... " Logan looked at it, not quite sure what to call it, "something," he finished vaguely, looking around him.  
  
Max held open the door for him while he wheeled through.  
  
The foyer area was dark and dirty – a fairly good indication Logan thought, of what the entire building was like.  
  
"How depressing," Max complained. "C'mon," she added, moving over to the elevator doors. She pressed the button. It had better work, she thought.  
  
She was surprised to hear the hum of well- oiled machinery, and the doors 'pinged' open.  
  
"Well, at least this is cared for," murmured Logan as they got in.  
  
"Yeah, 'cause nothing else is," added Max.  
  
It was a world away from Logan's lifestyle.  
  
Max punched the button for the fifth floor.  
  
They both looked at each other while the elevator ascended, then, as you do in elevators, quickly looked away again.  
  
As the doors opened, Logan cleared his throat, "Here we go."  
  
Max wondered if some of Logan's unease had rubbed off on her. Looking at his profile, the thought came to her that if she thought he'd been tense on the phone talking to Grace, in retrospect it was nothing to what he was now.  
  
He took a deep breath of the fetid air, then instantly regretted it, and rang the doorbell of 506. Not surprised when there was no response, he knocked, and waited.  
  
Watching Logan, Max suspected he hadn't put Davidson in the loop about the shooting.  
  
Unexpectedly, the door swung open, and she looked at Kyle Davidson.  
  
She didn't like what she saw.  
  
The first thing she looked at was the colour of his eyes. They were blue, but somehow she wasn't really surprised. .  
  
He was probably the same age as Logan, but his hair was already quite grey, and he had an emaciated look about him. 'Drugs?' she wondered. His skin was white and pasty, as if he hadn't seen the sun in a long time.  
  
Logan was shaking hands with him. She could see the other man's surprise at seeing Logan in his wheelchair, quickly to be replaced fleetingly by one of ... satisfaction?  
  
She quickly looked down at Logan to see if he had noticed it to, but his emotions were masked behind his polite introduction of her.  
  
"This is my friend, Max," he was saying.  
  
Kyle Davidson turned to her and held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you."  
  
Seeing the small ironical smile cross his lips as he looked from her to Logan, she could understand why Logan did not call him a friend.  
  
As they were being ushered into his apartment, she heard him saying to Logan, "So, is this permanent or temporary?"  
  
She cringed for Logan's sake at his tone of voice.  
  
With a slight edge to his voice, Logan replied, "Let's say I won't be dancing at your wedding."  
  
Kyle Davidson made no other comment.  
  
"Anyway, what about you Kyle. What have you been up to?" Logan asked, wheeling further into the room and expertly spinning around.  
  
"Oh, just the usual – failing at life." He made no attempt to hide the bitterness in his voice.  
  
"It wasn't the usual when I knew you," Logan said quietly.  
  
"Oh, I doubt you ever really 'knew' me Logan."  
  
'Great, this is going well!' Max said silently.  
  
"Well, apart from 'that'," and he gestured towards Logan's chair, "you seem to be the same as ever. Still got that successful 'rich boy' look about you."  
  
Max caught Logan's eye. 'Let me whack him for you!' her own eyes pleaded.  
  
Ignoring both her look and Kyle's comment, Logan said, "Have you heard from any of the others lately? Burton, Melville, Kransky?"  
  
Davidson looked at him incredulously. "You really have been out of it, haven't you."  
  
Logan raised his eyebrows at him.  
  
"All dead," he said abruptly.  
  
Max saw the look of shock on Logan's face, and felt a now familiar tightening in her own stomach.  
  
Logan, his mind reeling, said tersely, "What happened?"  
  
Obviously pleased with the result of his revelation, Davidson continued with morbid pleasure, "Murdered of course."  
  
Losing patience, Logan said, "Kyle, will you tell me what you're talking about!"  
  
"Well why do you think I'm holed up in this hovel? You think I like to live like this?"  
  
Logan's look said, 'That's exactly what I thought.'  
  
Seeing Logan's expression, a look of fury crossed the other man's face as he stepped abruptly up to the wheelchair. "You always did think you were better than everyone else, didn't you."  
  
Max instinctively took a step closer to Logan, but the other man stopped, standing in front of Logan, clenching and unclenching his fists.  
  
She suspected if Logan had been standing he would have swung at him. 'You sure know how to push people's buttons Logan,' was her quiet thought.  
  
As if suddenly realizing what he was doing, Davidson took a step back, and turned away. "We all received death threats," he said with a quiet intensity in his voice.  
  
"March 13th?" asked Logan softly.  
  
Davidson turned abruptly. "You too?"  
  
Logan didn't answer but asked instead, "What happened to the others?"  
  
"Knifed, Shot, drowned – does it matter! The results were the same."  
  
Logan bit his lip and looked at Max. "This isn't good."  
  
Max had had enough. Stepping up to Davidson she demanded, "Stop talking in riddles and tell us what the hell you know!"  
  
Taken aback by the stark intensity of her anger, he said quickly, "I don't know a whole lot. About six weeks ago we all got these 'letters'." He seemed to have difficulty in saying the word, and for the first time Max could see the fear lurking in his eyes. He walked over to the bureau, opened a drawer, and pulled out a familiar looking envelope. He handed it to Logan.  
  
"I think I'm familiar with this," he acknowledged dryly.  
  
"Then you know what's going down here Cale."  
  
"Not really," refuted Logan.  
  
"Well, March 13th – we all figured it had to be about Bobby's death."  
  
"Why didn't you try to reach me?"  
  
"You're a hard person to track down. We thought you'd dropped off the planet. Then again, when we couldn't contact you, we didn't know what to think, who to trust ... and," his voice dropped a little, "then they started dying."  
  
Max could see the perspiration on his face.  
  
"Kransky first, shot down outside his apartment, Melville drowned when he 'drove' his car off a pier, and Melville was stabbed to death one night when he got out of his car."  
  
Davidson walked to the window, looking through the once white, now grey, lace curtains.  
  
"I didn't know what to think when you called Logan. Were you here to kill me or did you have a 'letter' too? Either way, I'd had enough of this hiding out, jumping at shadows, reaching out for my gun every time I hear a noise." His lips curled sardonically. "I've had enough of myself."  
  
Max looked at Logan. Davidson's words echoed in her own mind – "All dead." She wondered what Logan was thinking.  
  
No one saw the tiny red dot slowly travel up Davidson's leg, and pause tantalizingly over his heart.  
  
Max moved as soon as she heard the sound, and in a reflex action hurled herself at Logan, bringing them both to the ground, and covering his body protectively with her own.  
  
Her mind racing, she cautiously put her head up, eyes professionally combing the room. The only thing she saw out of place was Kyle Davidson's eyes staring sightlessly at her, a small round stain targeting the area where only a few short seconds ago, a heart had been beating.  
  
Her eyes traveled to the window, where she saw a bullet-sized hole.  
  
The green eyes were out there - somewhere.  
  
Max jumped up in a fluid movement.  
  
"You okay?" she spoke quickly.  
  
Logan nodded. Max was already half way out the door.  
  
She tore down the hallway, straight to the stairwell they'd passed on their way to the -now dead - Kyle Davidson's room.  
  
She was the hunter now, determined to find this man who had a bounty on Logan's life.  
  
She hit the foyer on the run, racing around to the side of the building where the marksman must have taken his shot. The apartment block next to the one they were in was almost identical; a testimony to the imagination of the individual who'd built them.  
  
Her eyes dark and intense, she scanned the neighbouring building. This twin block seemed to be in even worse condition than the one Davidson lived in. (Had lived in, she mentally corrected herself.)  
  
Doing a quick calculation, she reasoned the marksman had to be still in the vicinity, and hopefully still in the building.  
  
Cautiously, she stole into the foyer.  
  
She noted they employed the same cleaners here too.  
  
Davidson had been a tall man. Guessing at the angle of trajectory she was reasonably sure the bullet must have been fired from the room directly opposite the one they were in. Checking the elevator, she saw it was still at the top floor. Max headed for the stairwell. On entering the stairwell she stood still, craning her neck upwards she looked for signs of life. The building seemed unnaturally quiet. She had no idea where the tenants were.  
  
Slowly she made her way up the darkened stairwell, her footsteps muffled by the worn carpet beneath her.  
  
She was perfectly calm now, composed - a trained killing machine.  
  
Almost disappointed she reached the 5th floor without encountering anyone. It seemed unlikely, but she walked along the corridor that was a replica of the one next door, to the corresponding room 506.  
  
The door was slightly ajar, and through the aperture she could see the open window with the same dirty curtains, blowing gently in the breeze.  
  
Mentally bracing herself, she then kicked the door the remaining distance till it swung upon, then ducking her head down, in a replica action of the day before, rolled through the door, landing with the grace of a gymnast, arms ready for action.  
  
"Great!"  
  
With disgust she saw the room was empty.  
  
Suddenly, her ears picked up the hum of the elevator.  
  
Hopefully, she raced down the stairwell again, stopping at each level to ascertain if the elevator had stopped on that floor.  
  
Fourth. Third. Second. First. The device continued down to the ground floor.  
  
Max reached the foyer before the elevator itself. Scanning quickly, she saw the area was still deserted.  
  
The elevator stopped.  
  
The doors opened.  
  
Max stood to the side, and as soon as the occupant stepped forward, she darted forward, hooking her arm around the man's neck.  
  
She breathed hotly in his ear. "What colour are your eyes?"  
  
It was difficult for the man to speak, but he managed to gasp, "Brown."  
  
"Damn!"  
  
She let him go with another oath.  
  
"What were you doing in there?"  
  
The poor man looked frankly terrified. "I didn't do anything wrong!"  
  
Max suddenly went cold.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
The man looked at her again, quite convinced she was going to kill him - such was the look on her face.  
  
"He gave me fifty dollars to ride to the ground floor. That's all, really! I didn't ..."  
  
"Is there a back stair? IS THERE?" she screamed at him when he didn't answer.  
  
"Yeah, at the end of the passage."  
  
She was out the door and back the way she'd come almost before the terrified man had finished his sentence.  
  
Her mouth set in a hard line, without hesitating this time she took the steps three and four at a time.  
  
Fifth floor. Room 506.  
  
The door was open.  
  
She knew she'd left it closed.  
  
Desperately wanting to simply charge in there, she forced herself to cautiously look around the corner.  
  
The first thing she saw was Logan, face to the floor, crumpled on the ground next to Davidson.  
  
They were the only occupants of the room.  
  
Numbly she ran forward and put her hand to Logan's neck..  
  
Thanking a God who she wasn't sure even existed, she noted his pulse was slow, but strong, her quick eyes noting the nasty lump forming on the back of his head.  
  
Checking the rest of the room thoroughly, and the corridor outside, she closed the door and locked it.  
  
For a moment she leaned against the door, catching her breath.  
  
Looking at Logan's still form, she was surprised to find she was trembling – there had been too many 'what ifs' and the thought shook her to the core.  
  
TBC 


	13. A face revealed

Thanks again for all reviews and comments – much appreciated as always!  
  
Chapter 13  
  
Logan put his hand on the back of his head feeling gingerly.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You've got a huge lump like an egg."  
  
Looking to where the voice was coming from, he saw Max sitting on the end of the bed. She handed him her glasses as she spoke.  
  
"So how d'you feel?" she asked him quietly.  
  
Still dazed, Logan said hesitatingly, "I don't know ... still thinkin' about it."  
  
"I screwed up Logan."  
  
He looked at her, trying to maneuver his head on the pillow to avoid the lump on his head. He was surprised by her tone.  
  
Logan put his glasses on and then propped himself up on his elbows. The movement made his head swim.  
  
"How?" was the best he could manage, as he closed his eyes for the moment.  
  
"My mission was to protect you," her voice throbbed with deep-seated emotion. "I should have stayed here," she said fiercely.  
  
"I'm not your 'mission' Max," Logan replied, a slight edge to his voice.  
  
"I let emotion cloud my judgment," she continued as though she hadn't heard him. All she could remember was her overwhelming desire, regardless of all else, to take out this green-eyed scumbag, once and for all.  
  
Her eyes flickered to Logan, now watching her groggily from Kyle Davidson's bed. "Almost at the cost of ..."  
  
She pushed the thought down.  
  
Not entirely sure why she was so upset, but with an inkling that perhaps he figured somewhere in all this, he said simply. "Max. It's okay."  
  
Trying to focus on his watch, Logan asked, "Have I been out long?"  
  
"About 10 minutes. I always knew you were hard-headed," she added with a bit more of her usual attitude.  
  
That drew a wry grin from Logan.  
  
"So, what happened while I was gone?" she asked.  
  
"The Yearbook!" said Logan suddenly, looking around.  
  
"What Yearbook?"  
  
"After you left, I poked 'round a bit ... came across it on the coffee table."  
  
He didn't tell her that he noticed it while pulling himself across the floor to his wheelchair.  
  
"Kyle must have had it out for a reason," he mused.  
  
"Was there anything in it?'  
  
"I didn't get that far," was all he replied, a little shortly.  
  
It had been difficult with his sore arm to twist his body around and sit up. With his back to the door, he'd only just opened the book, when he became vaguely aware of a movement behind him.  
  
"I'd only opened it up, and next thing, whammo."  
  
"Just as well it was only 'whammo'!" added Max feelingly, still not satisfied with her part in all this.  
  
"He could have killed you Logan," Max said quietly, her face averted from his.  
  
"Yeah, well." Logan wasn't too thrilled with the thought either.  
  
They were both silent for a moment.  
  
"Anyway, "grunted Logan, getting into his chair where Max had put it next to the bed, (briefly wondering in turn how he came to be on the bed, and not entirely happy with his assumption), "I guess we should do something about Kyle."  
  
"Hardly a loss to society," put in Max coldly.  
  
Logan looked up at her as he positioned himself – Kyle had obviously made a big impression on her during their very brief acquaintance.  
  
"I'll give Matt Sung a call. See if he can sort it out and keep my name out of it."  
  
Another thing to worry about thought Max – the last thing Logan needed was attention from the police or publicity.  
  
She sighed. 'Why did everything have to be so complicated?'  
  
Vaguely listening while Logan called Matt, with gloved hands she systematically did a search of the unattractive room - unattractive like the occupant had been. Her lips curled thinking of Kyle Davidson. Finding a facecloth in a drawer, she then used it to wipe the doorknob, and anything else they might have touched.  
  
"That's all set. Matt'll send someone along."  
  
"Let's get out of here," said Max repressing a shiver, suddenly very keen to get out of there.  
  
"How's your head?" asked Max on the way down in the elevator.  
  
"Still there," was Logan's non-committal reply.  
  
Max raised her eyebrows, but said nothing more.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Her own thoughts grim, Max stole a look at Logan's profile, noting the frown above his glasses, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.  
  
Catching her gaze he half smiled at her.  
  
"Watcha thinking?' she asked.  
  
"I'm thinking I'd better find out what I can about Vincent Carlisle," then hesitating for a moment he added, "'cause I don't know how many more chances we're gonna get."  
  
****************************************************************  
  
Bling met them at the door, just on his way out. A look of relief crossed his face when he saw them.  
  
"I was beginning to get a bit worried," he admitted.  
  
"You got a pain killer in your bag of tricks?" Max called out to Bling  
  
"Yeah." He looked enquiringly at Max.  
  
"Not me – 'hero boy' over there has a headache."  
  
Bling saw Logan throw her a very dirty look, as he wheeled himself to his computer, snapping the brakes with slightly more force than usual.  
  
Seeing Bling's enquiring look she said briefly with a nod towards Logan, "Whack on the head. You might need to check it out."  
  
Taking the bottle of painkillers from Bling, and filling a glass with water, she took them to Logan who was already intently tapping at the keyboard.  
  
Without taking his eyes from the screen, he absently took the two tablets she held out for him, swallowing them with the water. It made her grin.  
  
"What?" he frowned up at her immediately suspicious . "Nothing." She gave him her sweetest smile.  
  
Coming up behind Logan, Bling said with a grimace, "You've sure been in the wars lately."  
  
"Don't touch it!" said Logan, suddenly leaning forward as he caught Bling's arm reflected in the computer screen, not at all keen to have the trainer touch the tender lump on his head.  
  
"Any dizziness? Nausea?" the trainer asked with some concern.  
  
Not taking his eyes from the screen, Logan said impatiently, "No. It's fine."  
  
"Headache bad?"  
  
Now frowning, and with his eyes still fixed on the screen, Logan replied with cool annoyance, "The only headache I have is from you two fussing about this."  
  
Bling grinned at Max. "Can't be too bad."  
  
********************************************************  
  
"Vincent Carlisle," said Logan triumphantly, some time later.  
  
Max came round to stand almost touching him, leaning forward, one hand on the computer desk, eyes skimming for the relevant information  
  
"Born '84. One brother, Robert Francis, educated Yale." She stopped at that. "Logan, he was at Yale too."  
  
"Yeah, but before my time."  
  
"It says here he's a financial consultant for Taylor Industries. That mean anything to you?"  
  
Logan looked thoughtful. "Not that I can remember," he murmured.  
  
"What about a picture?"  
  
"That's the curious thing. I can't even call up a picture on a driver's license."  
  
"Isn't that a little strange?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"On a different angle, why d'you sp'ose he took the Yearbook?"  
  
Logan shrugged. "Why does this guy do anything?" he answered, his frustration starting to show.  
  
"How come 'you' don't have a Yearbook?"  
  
"I think my Mom had that stuff. I don't know what happened to it."  
  
Her ears pricked at the mention of his Mom, but to her disappointment, he didn't say anymore. She often wondered about his family.  
  
"Did you say a Yale Yearbook?" asked Bling, coming through from the kitchen. "I'm pretty sure there's one in that box of stuff you left on the top shelf in your closet."  
  
Looking surprised Logan said, "Would you mind getting that down for me Bling?"  
  
Following Bling to his bedroom he watched while Bling hauled the box down. He couldn't help reflecting that not very long ago he would have done this for himself. Pushing the black thoughts away he turned his concentration to the job at hand.  
  
He had Bling place the box on the low table near the couch where he would be able to access it. Snapping on his brakes, he leaned forward to look in it.  
  
"Anything else you need?" asked Bling, wiping his hands to remove the small amount of dust on them.  
  
"No. That's fine. In fact I won't need you till tomorrow."  
  
"You sure about that?" Bling asked seriously. "I need to change the dressing on your arm."  
  
"Max could probably do it," prevaricated Logan, mentally thinking there was no way he'd have Max do the unpleasant job. "I mean it Bling." Logan looked straight up at him now.  
  
Not entirely happy, but feeling he couldn't push it, Bling said. "Okay, but you call me if you need anything. Watch that arm!" then he added as an afterthought with a grin, "and the head."  
  
Logan nodded, his head already down looking through the box.  
  
Bling gave Max a look as he said good-bye, then in an undertone said to her, "He really has to have that dressing changed."  
  
"I got it covered."  
  
"Sparks are gonna fly!" he warned.  
  
"Oh, I think I can handle him," Max smiled musingly.  
  
Seeing Bling to the door, her smile faded as she regarded Logan, still sorting single- mindedly through the box.  
  
"You let him go on purpose, didn't you." Max watched him closely.  
  
"You know ... my arms feeling pretty good now. He's got other things to do."  
  
She noted how Logan kept his head down, peering intently into the box.  
  
"Could be you were worried about him," she said carefully.  
  
"Logan," she said a little louder when he didn't answer her.  
  
He looked up at her with an almost guilty look on his face.  
  
"You think he's gonna make a move soon, don't you." Her words were a statement, rather than a question.  
  
Logan's eyes searched the room for a moment, but eventually they came back to rest on her. He studied his fingers for a moment then admitted with a rush, "I don't think he's gonna 'play' next time."  
  
Max nodded her head silently.  
  
That had been her thought as well.  
  
"Here we go!" Logan announced satisfied.  
  
"Is it the same as Kyle's?" Max moved behind his chair to look over his shoulder.  
  
"I think so," murmured Logan, as he flicked through it.  
  
Suddenly Max put a hand out. "Stop. Go back a bit."  
  
With considerable surprise he saw that she'd picked out a picture of Robert Carlisle.  
  
"How did you ...?"  
  
Seeing the look on her face, he paused. "Max?"  
  
"Logan. That's him." She stared hard at the grainy photo.  
  
Turning his gaze to where she was pointing, he saw that it was not Robert Carlisle she was looking at, but the other man in the picture.  
  
The caption read: Vincent and Robert Carlisle celebrate the inaugural Taylor Industries scholarship programme.  
  
Logan felt a sudden uneasiness. "That's him Max?"  
  
She nodded, still staring intently at the picture. Both men held champagne glasses in their hands, the older man with his arm around the younger in an expression of camaraderie, and both men looking directly towards the camera and smiling.  
  
It made her feel ill.  
  
With sudden decisiveness she jumped up and proceeded to draw the curtains against the greyness of the late afternoon.  
  
Logan looked at her. "Max. What are you doing?"  
  
"That creep's not gonna catch me out again," she said with purpose.  
  
TBC 


	14. Be Prepared

Once again, thank you so much for all the reviews – it's great to get your feedback!  
  
Chapter 14  
  
"Max!"  
  
"What is it?" Max's head shot up, eyes alert  
  
Logan spoke with extreme patience, his eyes on the screen, "I 'm findin' it real hard here to concentrate with you 'pacing' all the time."  
  
"Oh. Sorry."  
  
She looked around for a minute, and then resumed her restless walk in front of the windows of Logan's apartment.  
  
The darkness of the Seattle night had been hidden behind the curtains she'd pulled across earlier, and now, instead of making her feel safer, she felt like a lion she'd once seen at a zoo, pacing back and forth in it's small cage.  
  
Was Logan safe? The thought echoed in her mind for the hundredth time.  
  
Logan stopped tapping, considered the screen for a moment, then unlocking his brakes turned around to regard her, arms folded.  
  
"Why don't you just 'open' them?"  
  
Max stopped pacing and looked at him.  
  
"Open what?"  
  
"The curtains," he stated in a 'you know what I'm talking about' voice. "Ever since you've closed them you've been wearing holes in my floor."  
  
"I'm just restless, that's all," she returned with a touch of defensiveness.  
  
"You hungry? I could make us something to eat?" he suggested.  
  
"Not really."  
  
Logan nodded. He wasn't feeling hungry himself. He sat watching her as she resumed her pacing, the lovely dark eyes distant and troubled.  
  
Her pacing didn't make him feel any better. If she who was supremely confident of her ability to face most things was worried, then things must be serious.  
  
What he didn't know was that the one thing she was not prepared to face fearlessly was the thought of something happening to him. The dread she'd felt when she realized she'd been tricked at the apartment that afternoon had been almost overwhelming  
  
She looked over at him suddenly. Her eyes met his fleetingly, and she could see the concerned look in his. She felt suddenly guilty.  
  
Determined to throw off the negative thoughts, she smiled at him.  
  
It was a dangerous smile thought Logan watching her - he suddenly felt very vulnerable.  
  
Max was approaching him now.  
  
He placed his hands on the metal rims of his chair, ready for flight.  
  
She came and stood in front of him, very close, so that he was forced to look up at her.  
  
"I know what we gotta do."  
  
"Yeah? His voice uncertain.  
  
She bent down closer to him, her voice husky.  
  
*********************************************************  
  
He had protested, he had argued, he had flatly denied her, but, as in chess, her skills of strategy proved to be superior.  
  
He sat at the table, one arm out of its sleeve, while she unwound the bandage.  
  
Logan was not happy.  
  
It was bad enough that she had to act as bodyguard for him, let alone nurse as well.  
  
"Were you like this for your mommy too?" asked Max innocently, looking at his face. "I'm sorry, you didn't glare loud enough. What did you say?"  
  
"I think I said I'm an ungrateful wretch," he finally replied wryly.  
  
"No argument here."  
  
Suddenly she felt very self-conscious about their closeness. Not trusting herself, she quickly put her head down and finished removing the bandage.  
  
She missed the small smile that played on his lips as he watched her.  
  
***********************************************************  
  
Logan insisted on cooking them some dinner, which, once served, Max managed to eat her own, plus half of Logan's.  
  
Max's earlier pacing had made him feel definitely uneasy, as much as he tried to rationalize the fact that the penthouse was one of the safest places for him to be. It reminded him of the night Max had broken in - when they'd all been so tense about the Sonrisa situation. He had the same queasy feeling in his stomach, his nerve endings tingling. He could understand Max and her earlier pacing – if he'd been able to pace, he reflected, he would have done it too. Instead he did the only thing he knew would help relieve the pressure he felt - he wheeled to his computer, determined to find all he could about Vincent Carlisle. With a small frown, and only vaguely aware of the clink of crockery as Max did the dishes, he concentrated on hacking into the computers of Taylor Industries.  
  
***********************************************************  
  
"Anything?" asked Max, some hours later.  
  
Logan leaned back wearily in his chair.  
  
"I wish," he said morosely.  
  
"Why don't you take a break?"  
  
"No," he snapped, leaning forward again.  
  
Max made a face. "Just an idea."  
  
Frowning again elbow resting on the desk, and his chin resting on his hand, he shook his head. "There's something strange goin' on here. Something's not right."  
  
"What d'you mean?" asked Max, munching on an apple, and pulling up the computer chair to sit on.  
  
Logan simply shook his head again, fingers racing over the keyboard.  
  
Watching his face, she thought he wouldn't notice a bomb going off in the next room. The next instant, a look of satisfaction crossed his face. "That's it," he said tensely.  
  
Max looked back to the screen. "What is 'it'?" asked Max warily.  
  
Logan turned to her. "Taylor Industries. It's a syndicate front."  
  
"What?"  
  
Logan was looking thoughtful again, his mind racing. "He never told me."  
  
Max waited for him to go on.  
  
Unlocking his brakes, he spun around to face her. "Bobby never told me where he got the evidence about the syndicate infiltration."  
  
"Vincent?"  
  
"Maybe." Logan still looked thoughtful.  
  
"Does Vincent still work for Taylor Industries?" Max took another bite.  
  
Logan turned his hands up and shrugged. "I can't find any data on him anywhere! It's as if he doesn't exist."  
  
"Or he's dead," tossed in Max, taking a final bite.  
  
"It's worth a try," muttered Logan  
  
Not sure of what he was up to, Max watched for a few moments, then walked into the kitchen to toss her apple core.  
  
"Hey."  
  
She hurried back in, noting the tone of his voice.  
  
With a satisfied smirk he looked up at her. "Always knew you were more than just a pretty face."  
  
Wondering what he was on about, she looked at the screen. "He's dead?" she asked in genuine surprise.  
  
"Well, he wants the world to think he is."  
  
"Logan, how does this help us?" Max was frankly puzzled.  
  
Logan scratched the back of his head, then thought better of it, remembering too late that he had a lump on it that was still quite large, and definitely still tender.  
  
"I'm not sure it does."  
  
Now Max looked frustrated. "Logan, you don't seem to be getting anywhere with this!"  
  
"Tell me about it!" he bit back, trying to stretch his back out at the same time.  
  
"You should probably get some rest," suggested Max in a milder tone.  
  
"Yeah, well, it's not the eternal variety I'm after, and if I don't crack this tonight, that may well be what I end up with!"  
  
"That's not very funny," said Max seriously.  
  
"I meet with Matt at four," then looking at his watch added, "this afternoon."  
  
"After what went down today, you're still goin' through with the meet?"  
  
In a low voice and with surprising vehemence he stated "I'm not gonna be a prisoner in my own apartment."  
  
"Get real to it, Logan!" she snapped back at him. "You just don't like the idea of someone beating you! This is all about your bad ass pride."  
  
"No. This is about not being willing to let six weeks of hard work go down the drain!"  
  
"Okay. If that's how you feel, why should I bother trying to save your ass!" And at that she strode over to the windows, and with a savage flourish threw open the curtains.  
  
Angrily wheeling after her, heedless of his arm, he retorted, "Fine – 'cause I never asked you to save my ass in the first place!"  
  
Max stood very still for a moment, then turned around and walked up to him, standing very close to his wheelchair. "You just don't get it, do you?" she asked him, in a voice full of meaning. "If you want me, I'll be in the guest room watching T.V." At that she turned on her heels and left the room.  
  
Logan sat looking after her for a moment, his own conscience more than pricking him, and wondering considerably as to the meaning of her words.  
  
Quite some time later, he was still staring bleary-eyed at the screen, having turned up nothing more on the elusive Vincent Carlisle. All his employment records had been withdrawn from Taylor Industries; it was as if he'd never worked there.  
  
Logan sighed. The ache in his head had turned into a full-blown pounding, but more annoying than that was the continual stab of guilt he felt every time he thought of Max.  
  
Catching sight of the bottle of painkillers Max had left on his desk, he put them on his lap and wheeled into the kitchen to get a drink of water.  
  
Just at that moment, Max came out, her quick eyes noting the bottle on the counter and the water in his hand.  
  
"Logan, look at this." She swept past him, turning on the television monitor in his study.  
  
Coming round the corner, he could hear the reporter saying: "... ... not known who is responsible. Vernon Taylor had built the company from its beginnings as a small savings and loan company, into one of the biggest corporations in the country." The reporter then continued onto the next item.  
  
"It's a little suspicious, wouldn't you say?"  
  
His mind was only working at half pace. "We're talking Vernon Taylor, head of Taylor Industries, right?"  
  
"Damn straight."  
  
"How did he die?" asked Logan, trying to get his head around this new development.  
  
"Kaboom!" said Max demonstratively.  
  
"What's the tie-in to our guy?" he wondered out loud.  
  
"You haven't heard the punch line," added Max quietly.  
  
Logan leaned back, looking up at her.  
  
"It happened here in Seattle."  
  
Logan sat very still. The queasy feeling in his stomach had returned.  
  
***********************************************************  
  
Logan eventually went to bed, leaving Max sitting by the huge picture windows, deep in thought. She used her solitude wisely, and by the time Bling came by at daybreak, she had come to several decisions.  
  
"Morning Max," greeted the trainer.  
  
"Bling."  
  
"Logan not up?" Bling looked around.  
  
"His head's only been down a few hours."  
  
"I'd better be real quiet then!" he whispered with a smile.  
  
"I'm gonna stay on duty with 'his grumpiness.' He's insisting on the meet with Matt Sung." Even to Bling the concern was evident in her eyes. "I'm not real happy with it."  
  
"Work?"  
  
"I'll ring in. First, I got a few things to do. Will you hold the fort for me?"  
  
"Fine by me."  
  
She grabbed a small bag she had on the kitchen bench, and headed out the door.  
  
***********************************************************  
  
"Bling, you there?"  
  
Max looked at the trainer with a grin. "His master calls."  
  
Bling went in to find Logan sitting up in bed.  
  
"Can you check this to see if I can get it wet now?" he asked, lifting his right arm in query.  
  
"Good morning to you too," replied Bling with a touch of irony.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"We're in fine form this morning."  
  
Logan threw him a look.  
  
"You look like hell," added Bling amiably, as he checked the knife wound.  
  
"Whatever ... ow!" he added a second later, giving Bling the full benefit of one of his glares.  
  
"Oops."  
  
"Well, how is it?" asked Logan impatiently.  
  
"I don't know why you're askin. You told me the doc said to keep it dry till you got the stitches out."  
  
"I'm asking because I hate showering with a plastic bag over my arm!"  
  
Knowing this was but the tip of the iceberg, Bling waited for more, but wasn't surprised when Logan abruptly stopped – getting Logan to open up was like getting the proverbial water from a stone.  
  
Understanding something of the pressure he was under, he simply replied, "Sorry. You're stuck with it for a few days yet."  
  
Without a word, Logan threw back his blankets, and still favouring his right arm, lifted his legs till they were over the side, transferred to his wheelchair, and headed for the bathroom.  
  
'It's gonna be a happy day," mused Bling.  
  
****************************************************  
  
Sometime in the afternoon, Matt Sung rang to confirm the meet with the informant.  
  
"That's fine Matt. I'll see you there." Ending his call, Logan put the phone on his lap and headed for the window. He hadn't seen the sun he recalled, since the day of their 'picnic.'  
  
Even though the tension was still there, he could feel a dragging heaviness behind his eyes. He wished this whole mess was behind him, and that he could get into bed at night without wondering if he was still going to be alive the next day. He realized with surprise he'd been unconsciously gripping the wheels of his chair. He took them off, lifting his right hand to rub the back of his head, only to stop irritably when he realized his battered head wouldn't take too kindly to the action. Clenching his jaw, he watched the rain beginning to fall.  
  
Max studied the figure by the window.  
  
"Hey," she called to him gently.  
  
As Logan turned his head, she could see the weariness in his eyes.  
  
Max walked around the couch, and leaned on the back of it, her own eyes focusing on the drizzling rain.  
  
"I know this meet is important to you," she began. "I think I've got a few ideas on how to make this work."  
  
Logan nodded silently, his eyes still intent on the window.  
  
"We need to do this my way," she went on, a little more forcefully.  
  
"You're the boss," he agreed, with a tinge of sarcasm.  
  
"Logan, this guy may be whacked, but he operates like a professional. I don't mean to take any chances. Are you sure you're cool with it?"  
  
"Whatever you say."  
  
Rather abruptly, he wheeled back to his computer.  
  
***************************************************  
  
Max stood next to Logan's Aztek, her enhanced eyesight doing a thorough check of their surroundings, which was an almost full garbage dump.  
  
"Is this where your peeps hangout?" she'd sniffed when they reached the rendezvous.  
  
"Only the more discerning ones," Logan had smiled, then looking out the car window said, "and there they are."  
  
Matt Sung had driven up in his rather battered car, which looked like it would be right at home with some of the more fortunate car shells.  
  
Mountains of garbage loomed on either side of them, a huge pile of car bodies immediately in front of them. There was only one entrance, through a rickety gate.  
  
Max had insisted that Logan stay in the car at all times.  
  
When Logan had started to protest, she reminded him that he'd promised to do it her way.  
  
"I'm the boss, remember?" she said with one of her provocative smiles.  
  
With a look of resignation, he'd simply folded his arms, and waited.  
  
Matt got out of his car, with a careful look around, and headed over to the Aztek.  
  
"Everything okay with you?" he queried, a little surprised at Max's presence.  
  
"Just takin a few precautions," Logan said a little uneasily.  
  
Matt had a battered brief case in his hand. "This is it," he said meaningfully, handing it over to Logan.  
  
"The contact?"  
  
Matt motioned to his car. "He's a bit paranoid. Thinks there are men with guns everywhere."  
  
"If this information is as good as he says, there probably are." Logan scanned the garbage dump as he spoke.  
  
"He wants to speak to you, but he's too scared to get out of the car."  
  
Max gave Logan a look that said, "Don't even think about it!"  
  
Aloud she said to Matt, "No way. He wants to talk, he comes here."  
  
"We've had a spot of trouble lately," said Logan, by way of explanation.  
  
The detective was immediately concerned. "You been compromised Logan?"  
  
"No, nothing like that, but, you know, we're just taking - precautions." Logan tried to sound matter-of –fact.  
  
The cars were about 40 yards apart from each other. Logan could make out the man in the back of Matt's car looking at them. He was about to wave a greeting, thinking this might put the man at ease, when unbelievably, the car before him burst into flames.  
  
************************************************************  
  
Both Matt Sung and Max saw the fire at the same time. It appeared as if the engine had ignited, and already they could feel the heat from the flames now beginning to tower above the car. To their horror, they could hear the man in the backseat screaming wildly, crying for help.  
  
With a quick look back to Logan first, Max then raced to the car. The man in the backseat had completely panicked and sat frozen by fear, his mouth now contorted as he soundlessly screamed.  
  
The door handles were already impossible to touch. The intensity of the heat at this proximity was incredible. Slipping off her jacket, she placed it over the doorknob and yanked with all her might. The door had obviously buckled with the intensity of the heat. She could see the man beginning to sag and the thought crossed her mind that there were better things in life than being blown into hundreds of pieces. Trying again desperately, she thankfully felt the door giving, and in the next instant it was open.  
  
As soon as she had it open, Matt Sung dived forward, grabbed the man by the arm, and pulled him out, dragging him away from the car, and dumping him on the ground where he lay a quivering mess in the dirt.  
  
In that instant Max turned round to check on Logan.  
  
The Aztek was gone.  
  
Frantically she looked towards the exit, in time to see the blue car roaring out the gate.  
  
Indelibly printed on her mind was the image of a man seated next to Logan, in his hand a gun, pointing directly at Logan's head.  
  
TBC 


	15. Fear is the Key

Thanks for all your positive reviews, and hope you all had a great Christmas. I'm able to concentrate on my story again now!!! Sorry to keep you in suspense for a few days!!!  
  
Chapter 15  
  
Logan had been so engrossed in the drama unfolding before him, that he hadn't noticed the figure running up to the passenger door of the Aztek.  
  
He had been in the grip of indecision, not knowing whether he should get out of the car or stay - and even if he did get out, what could he do to help - when totally unexpectedly, the decision was taken out of his hands.  
  
The first hint of danger had been the slight movement as the door opened, but by then it was already too late – he was literally staring down the barrel of a gun, a Baretta with a silencer attached.  
  
Considering all the thoughts that could have passed through his mind at that point, the first one that rushed in was: 'I hate it when Max is right.'  
  
He had no time for anything else. Only one word was spoken by his uninvited passenger, and with a gun being waved in his face, Logan would have understood that word even if it had been spoken in Swahili – "Drive."  
  
Without hesitation, Logan started the car, and at first began to drive slowly, but a quick jab to his ribs with the nozzle of the gun encouraged him to fairly roar along the dirt track, and out the solitary gate.  
  
His one consolation was that he thought for a moment he saw Max staring after him, but he was out on the road in the next instant, and the glimpse lost to sight.  
  
For a moment he felt terribly alone.  
  
Letting nothing of his thoughts show on his face, he continued to drive. The road was straight, so he decided to risk a look at his passenger.  
  
With a sharp intake of breath, the most powerful thing he noticed was a pair of eyes in a pale face; green eyes, intensely green. To Logan they were the eyes of a killer.  
  
"Well, this is a surprise," said Logan with a touch of sarcasm, his eyes on the road, ."though I must admit not an all together 'pleasant' one."  
  
He raised his eyebrows as he heard the satirical laugh of the man beside him.  
  
"I guess this is where I say - Vincent Carlisle I presume?" continued Logan.  
  
"Correct." His passenger then added in the tone of a snake addressing it's next meal, "Logan Cale."  
  
Logan shuddered mentally, thinking vaguely of ghosts walking on graves.  
  
They were nearly out on the main road now - if they turned left they'd be heading back into Seattle itself.  
  
Right on cue, Vincent said, "Turn right "  
  
"D'you mind telling me where we're headed?" asked Logan conversationally.  
  
"You're a clever man. I thought you would have worked that out by now."  
  
Not wanting to give too much away, if indeed he knew anything at all to the point, he simply replied, "Not really."  
  
"How did you like the gift I sent you?" asked Carlisle suddenly. He had an intense, almost unpredictable manner.  
  
"And that would be?" Logan queried, continuing to play his own game.  
  
At that, Carlisle showed impatience. "My brother told me you were intuitively clever. Don't waste my time." There was a slight edge to the last few words.  
  
"Ahh. Then in that case I assume you mean the eight legged arthropod."  
  
"Beautiful, wasn't it. I bought it from a black market dealer, an Australian variety. A 'Huntsman' they call it. An appropriate name, don't you think?"  
  
Logan could hear his admiration for the species in his voice.  
  
"They're quite harmless you know, but very large, some of them the size of a woman's hand."  
  
Logan shuddered at the thought, mentally making a note to have Australia way down on his list of holiday destinations  
  
"Why the spider?" Logan asked.  
  
"Raindrops on roses," replied Carlisle cryptically.  
  
"Whiskers on kittens," answered Logan dryly, the line springing from some far-flung memory of his childhood.  
  
He sensed Carlisle grinning at him now. He couldn't resist a quick look at the man. Yep, he'd been right – he'd never seen a more unpleasant smile.  
  
"Needles, spiders and ..." Carlisle left the last word hanging mockingly.  
  
Logan swallowed hard. "Heights." He tried to sound cool about it. He wasn't quite sure he'd succeeded.  
  
"Your 'Favourite Things.'"  
  
Logan stole a look at him. "Aren't you goin' to an awful lot of trouble on all this."  
  
"I've had ten years to think about it. Ten years to plan."  
  
"Ten years to self-destruct." added Logan quietly.  
  
"No. That happened when Bobby died." The man spoke with a stark, emotional coldness to his voice, as one already dead.  
  
As he listened to Vincent Carlisle, Logan was aware of something deliberately inching it's way up his spine–the first inklings of real fear.  
  
****************************************************** .  
  
They drove on for some time. Carlisle had him do a series of turns, eventually doubling back till they were on another road, heading back into Seattle itself.  
  
They were coming into the city precinct now. Logan wondered wildly if this could be a chance - they'd have to stop at traffic lights.  
  
Unerringly, Carlisle seemed to read his thoughts again. "If you try anything, I will shoot you, dead if need be." Motioning to Logan's legs he added, "And I doubt you'd be able to move quickly enough, even it you were stupid enough to consider throwing yourself out of the car door."  
  
Logan said nothing - He 'had' been silly enough to consider throwing himself out of the car door.  
  
Suddenly Carlisle ground the gun hard into Logan's side. "Can you feel that?" he hissed, close enough for Logan to feel his breath. Getting no response he tried again, higher. This time Logan winced, arching his body towards the driver's door. The movement brought a smile of satisfaction to Carlisle's face. 'Oh, I want you dead all right, but," and he said the last words with grim satisfaction, "Fear is the Key, right?"  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Max had always felt bad about this meet.  
  
She watched the Aztek disappear with a horrible twist to her gut, and the thought, 'I 'so' hate being right about this.'  
  
It was with a certain amount of grim satisfaction that she felt thankful she'd acted on her instincts. Max had done three things -firstly, she'd put a tracking device on the Aztec, secondly she'd borrowed Bling's cell phone, and thirdly, she had insisted on riding her Ninja to the meet.  
  
As she turned round to run back to where her motorbike was, she whipped the phone out of her jacket, quickly pressing the number for Logan's apartment.  
  
With no time for pleasantries, she spoke abruptly into the phone. "Bling. It's Max. Carlisle has Logan. Where are they?"  
  
Bling sat at Logan's computer, looking at a blank screen. His voice came back to her concerned. "I don't know Max. The tracker's been blocked."  
  
"Damn!"  
  
Without another word to either Bling, or Matt Sung who was running towards her, she revved the Ninja hard and followed Logan's car, only to find when she got out to the main road, that there was no sign of it. Cursing the failure of the tracking device, she momentarily paused, then with determination turned left.  
  
***********************************************  
  
"It's kinda hard to drive with your gun stickin' into my side." Logan grunted.  
  
Looking at him intently for a moment, Carlisle removed the gun.  
  
"Bobby got the information from you, didn't he?" said Logan mildly.  
  
Carlisle made a sudden movement towards him, and Logan tensed instinctively, thinking for a moment he'd pushed too far, but the older man seemed to control himself.  
  
"My brother said you were smart. He admired you, you know that?"  
  
Logan was surprised. He'd always thought Bobby was the clever one – the 'Man who would be King' so to speak.  
  
Carlisle was still talking. "I saw Bobby the morning after one of your parties. He told me you were all drunk, playing some sort of 'truth or dare' game. He asked you what you were most afraid of - pity you're so 'honourable' and told him the truth."  
  
Carlisle gave a mirthless laugh. "Bobby was real surprised. He had you figured as some sort of superman – thought you wouldn't be afraid of anything."  
  
"Well, I'm sorry I 'disappointed' him." Logan was careful to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, while at the same time trying to remember a moment of indiscretion from his college days that, unbeknown to him at the time, would have a momentous influence on his present predicament  
  
"Oh, he wasn't disappointed. He told me you were 'complex' – whatever that means."  
  
Logan wondering where all this was going, couldn't stop a small gasp of pain as the gun was rammed in his side again.  
  
"You filled his head with thoughts of changing the world!" Carlisle accused him venomously.  
  
"You've got it wrong," corrected Logan, doing his best to keep his voice smooth. "I was just a journalism major. Bobby wanted me to 'write' the article, but it was his fire, his enthusiasm that lit it."  
  
Logan looked at Carlisle. "Either you never really knew your brother, or you're just lookin' for a scapegoat." The tension in the car was beginning to build.  
  
"Maybe," Logan continued softly, "You're just tryin' to appease your own conscience. Bobby stumbled on to the information for the article through you, didn't he? 'You' were the one working for Vernon Taylor, a syndicate boss. He had an unfortunate accident I hear."  
  
"He put the 'hit' out on Bobby." Carlisle voice shook with emotion. "You don't know what type of man he was."  
  
Carlisle suddenly moved the gun from Logan's side to jab it into his thigh. Logan didn't even flinch. "I could put a bullet through you leg right here and you wouldn't feel a thing, would you?" Logan's eyes narrowed for a moment. "That's what Vernon Taylor's heart was like. You couldn't 'make' the man feel pain. He got what was coming to him," he finished grimly.  
  
"You killed four innocent men. Davidson, Kransky, the others; they weren't responsible for Bobby's death. The March rally was always your brother's idea, He was the driving force." Logan's voice was cold now, speaking with an underlying outrage that an injustice had been committed. Max would have recognized the tone.  
  
"Shut up. Shut Up," screamed Carlisle, spitting obscenities at him. Logan braced himself thinking for a moment he 'was' going to get a bullet in the leg, not particularly partial to the idea, whether he could feel it or not!  
  
"Turn right here." ground out Carlisle, seemingly only just holding on to his self-control.  
  
They were back in the high-rise district now, ironically not far from Fogle Towers.  
  
With a sinking feeling, Logan knew what building they were headed for.  
  
Behind them, unobserved, a black car followed their every move.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Max road her bike into the gathering gloom, her face set, her mind focused, her attitude determined – she was going to get Logan back.  
  
Where would Carlisle have taken Logan? The man was a whacko, but he was one with a mission. Carlisle would have had a plan. She thought back to everything she knew about him, her mind going back to the things Logan had told her: "It's personal, it's about me." he'd said. Fear is the Key. What key! Riding her bike purely by reflex, Max held rein on her thoughts with a ruthless pull, and concentrated on the matter at hand. What would Carlisle do? She knew it had to do with Logan's fears: spiders, needles, and ... heights? Damn!! Instantly her thoughts rushed to the Space Needle. As if on autopilot, her bike turned in that direction.  
  
It was dark by the time she reached there, but that didn't bother her at all. Desperately she scanned the building and parking lot. Surely they would have been there before her!! With sickening disappointment, through the rain that was beginning to fall, she saw the parking lot was completely deserted. There was no sign of the Aztec anywhere. "Logan," she whispered painfully into the night.  
  
**********************************************  
  
Logan parked the car with a considerable amount of reluctance. At least while they were driving, he'd felt reasonably assured of his own safety, but getting out of the car was a different matter.  
  
The building was deserted this time of night, the workers all safely in their own homes, cooking dinner, watching T.V, putting children to bed – it was a normalcy he could have done with right now.  
  
Slowly he set up his wheelchair – no sense in rushing the inevitable.  
  
"Max." His mind said the word unbidden. Where was she? What was she doing? He had to admit to himself that a part of him hoped she was worried about him.  
  
Once Logan had set up his wheelchair, Carlisle checked it out thoroughly. "We don't want to find another tracking device, do we?"  
  
Logan shrugged as if he knew, but in reality his brain was seething. Max hadn't told him about a tracking device.  
  
"I'll have your cell phone too, and your gun of course." He took it from the compartment on the driver's door where Logan kept it within easy reach. Logan was becoming more and more annoyed – was there anything about him this man didn't know?  
  
Something of his annoyance must have shown on his face, because Carlisle said with a certain amount of pride, "I 'am' a 'professional.'"  
  
Logan quickly looked away, and stared through the windscreen again. 'A professional' –the word hung on the air - that's what Max had said too.  
  
"Come on." Carlisle was rattling his wheelchair impatiently. Making a face, Logan transferred into it, with a look up at the building they were about to enter.  
  
"Too bad. There are steps," said Logan, 'disappointed'. "Guess we'll just hafta turn round and go home."  
  
"Take the ramp to the right." Carlisle spoke without hesitation.  
  
Logan nodded with a wry smile. "Yeah. Right."  
  
He cast a quick look around, hoping against hope for a sign of Max, but if she 'was' there, she certainly wasn't showing herself.  
  
Carlisle watched him as he pushed himself up the ramp. "I'll say this for you Cale – you're a cool customer."  
  
"Isn't that a bit of a retro remark?" Logan was hardly interested in a compliment from a man who meant to kill him.  
  
"Must have been hard for you ending up in that." He motioned to the wheelchair as he spoke.  
  
Logan stopped for a moment and looked up at Carlisle, surprised at the others words, and in spite of himself, all the resentment for his situation mirrored in his face. "I hardly think our current relationship invites me to share with you on a personal level," he said, with undisguised loathing.  
  
"Touche." Carlisle appeared unoffended as Logan pushed himself through the self-opening doors. The gun was still in his hand, pointing at Logan's back, but he'd hidden it with his jacket thrown over his arm.  
  
There was one security guard on duty, staring at a bank of monitors. "Can I help you? The building is closing in 5 minutes." They were destined to be his last words.  
  
Logan felt a wave of revulsion and anger flood through him. "Was that really necessary?"  
  
"Without a doubt" Carlisle replied mercilessly.  
  
Logan looked up at him with complete distaste.  
  
Carlisle was at the bank of monitors now. "Excellent. We've timed it well." He didn't bother to hide the gun now, so Logan could only assume this meant the building was deserted. "Into the elevator."  
  
The doors of the elevator closed with ominous finality. If he'd felt alone before, the sensation was even more over-powering now  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The man surveyed the dead security guard with contempt, and then with a small noise of satisfaction, he watched the two figures emerging from the elevator on one of the monitors.  
  
**********************************************  
  
Max pulled out Bling's cell phone, feeling the first small ripples of despair.  
  
"Bling. It's me."  
  
"What's happening Max?"  
  
She didn't waste time on explanations. "Bling, give me a read out on the tallest building in Seattle." She was playing a hunch.  
  
Bling's voice came back on the line within less than a minute. "The Jupiter Building. Completed December 2008. Owned by Taylor Industries. One hundred and fifteen floors. Max cut him off. "Got it."  
  
This time Max was certain she had the right destination. She bit back the second question – was she going to be there in time?  
  
************************************************************************  
  
It was with considerable dismay that Logan saw him punch the button for the observation deck, feeling himself beginning to sweat just thinking about looking down from the top floor. 'I've done the 'thrown off a building' thing – surely that couldn't happen twice in one person's life' he mused without humour.  
  
He thought of the letter: 'This Time the Bullet will Kill.' Going by Carlisle's previous MO, it would appear this was yet another of his 'fear' plays. He couldn't help but reflect that having experienced both being shot and plunging of a building, in all honesty he couldn't find anything particularly pleasant about either option.  
  
Carlisle appeared to hold a set of skeleton keys for the building, and in seconds he had the key to the observation deck open.  
  
Instantly Logan shivered, telling himself it was just the icy wind that blew through him. The observation deck was an open affair, running the circumference of the building, visitors being protected by a wire mesh that fully enclosed the floor.  
  
The views were captivating, but Logan spent a good deal of his time up there studiously ignoring their magnificence. "Okay. You got me here – now what?"  
  
"I do hope you're enjoying the view. Even in these times, the vista of sparkling lights is really quite breathtaking." In the manner of one out for a country walk, Carlisle breathed in appreciatively. "Come over here, where you can admire it.  
  
"Oh, I can see it all right,' responded Logan quickly, giving an ironic smile, "it certainly takes my breath away" – and any serious thought I might have had for the next few hours he added to himself.  
  
He looked up to see Carlisle regarding him intently.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
The roads were becoming slick and dangerous with the rain, but Max drove with the precision and speed of a professional racer. Fortunately for her, it appeared as if the rain had dampened the enthusiasm of the sector police – not one challenged her or attempted to cite her for speeding, which was probably fortunate for the policeman himself.  
  
In record time she drew up outside the Jupiter building. Her eyes hungrily searching for one thing only, failed to notice the opulence and grandeur of the building in these post pulse times. With a flooding relief she found what she'd been so desperately hoping for – in full view was Logan's Aztec.  
  
TBC  
  
Don't yell at me - I didn't mean to do another cliffhanger. I just didn't want to rush the denouement!!! Next chapter will be up soon, I promise!! 


	16. Room with a view

Next chapter is here as promised: nice and quick. Many thanks to all who've been kind enough to take the time and review!!!!! The end is almost in sight! (sigh)  
  
Chapter 16  
  
With sweaty palms Logan gripped the wheels of his chair, his facing betraying nothing of his inner turmoil.  
  
"Acrophobia." Vincent Carlisle whispered the word into the wind.  
  
Logan stared at him implacably.  
  
"It's such a very, very, long way down." He came up behind Logan. "Release the brakes." Carlisle spoke quietly enough, but with an underlying hint of menace.  
  
Logan quaked inwardly, but outwardly released the brakes with a look up at Carlisle that spoke of boredom.  
  
Flinching slightly, he felt Carlisle put his hands on his shoulders, and propelled him towards the wire fencing, not stopping until Logan's chair was parallel to the wall – the best vantage point for the scene below, then came around in front, obviously to observe Logan's reaction with relish.  
  
Logan felt the familiar wave of vertigo assail him, but under the intense scrutiny of the other man, schooled his features once more to reflect none of it.  
  
As much for his own well being, and the need to stall for time, Logan spoke cuttingly, "Bobby would be reeel proud of you now, wouldn't he. It would give him a great sense of relief to know that you are nothing more than a cold-blooded killer."  
  
Logan received a backhand to his face for his efforts – well at least the unpleasant sensation of vertigo disappeared.  
  
Even as he said the words, his senses reeling from the stinging blow, he suddenly realized with total conviction that there was more truth to the words than he would have realized even five minutes ago. In fact he wondered why he'd never seen it before.  
  
Unconsciously, his eyes flew to the other man's face.  
  
Suddenly, with an intensity and mind-numbing coldness, the rain, which had been drizzling steadily, broke into a fully-fledged storm, the wind driving it into their faces, thoroughly drenching both Logan and Carlisle in a matter of seconds.  
  
Carlisle was momentarily distracted as the rain beat upon his face. It was the moment Logan had been hoping for – knowing he'd never escape while Carlisle held the gun. Without hesitation, he flung himself forward, his left hand holding on to his wheel for support, his right hand reaching out for the gun.  
  
Carlisle was caught unawares as he felt the gun being prized from his grasp, but he had the advantage of two hands and movement. His left hand he brought up quickly, delivering a swift karate style blow to Logan's outstretched arm, and at the same instant, pulling back. His arm numb, Logan nonetheless tried to wrestle the gun, but as Carlisle stepped back, he was forced to let go or end up flat on his face. Disconcertingly, Logan looked up to see the gun aimed at him once more, Carlisle's face filled with deadly intent. He stared straight into Vincent Carlisle's emotionless green orbs.  
  
Unexpectedly, Carlisle broke into a singularly unpleasant, mirthless laugh; his face silhouetted in the dim lighting and reflected rain.  
  
The laugh stopped as quickly as it had begun, which Logan was thankful for.  
  
"Get inside," nodded Carlisle, indicating the doors.  
  
Only too happy to oblige, Logan wheeled himself off the observation deck.  
  
Passing the security monitors, Carlisle stopped and turned them on. Watching his fingers on the panel, it was obvious to Logan he knew what he was doing. Logan looked longingly at the elevator doors. They were only ten feet away, but they might as well have been on the moon for all the good they could do him. He'd never be able to wheel there quickly enough, and elevators were not known for their speed of opening and closing, they were designed to give people plenty of time to get in and out. Turning back to Carlisle, he saw the other man suddenly straighten up, Logan catching a fleeting enigmatic glance cross his face.  
  
Carlisle had Logan move to the elevator, and then punched the down button. For a brief moment Logan's hopes soared, but once in, Carlisle pressed it for the floor beneath the one they were already on.  
  
There was a certain amount of urgency about Carlisle now that made Logan even more nervous.  
  
The elevator stopped way too quickly for Logan's peace of mind.  
  
Carlisle pushed him out impatiently, directing him to turn right. They were in a long corridor, but Logan could tell this was not the domain of lowly clerks. The carpet was deep and luxurious, paintings adorned the walls, and the double doors they stopped at were nothing short of magnificent.  
  
Unimpressed, Logan found it a tawdry cover-up for nothing short of evil.  
  
Unlocking the doors, Carlisle motioned once again with an impatient gesture for Logan to enter the room.  
  
Logan gave a low whistle. "Nice," he stated, looking about him. It was obvious the depression that gripped the rest of the country had somehow by- passed Taylor industries. The focus of the room they were in was an immense antique mahogany desk. Logan noted the well-stocked bar longingly. 'Well, at least they were off the observation deck and out of the rain.' He tousled his hair with his hand in an effort to stop the water dripping on his face, and then spying a box of tissues on the desk he helped himself to one and proceeded to dry his glasses. Able to see clearly again, he looked to see what Carlisle was up to, and with a certain amount of trepidation observed the rope Carlisle now held in his hands.  
  
"Get in this chair."  
  
Logan looked to see him indicating a deep leather armchair; it looked particularly comfortable if that's what you were looking for, but Logan knew for it would be very difficult to get into. Casting a quick look around Logan saw several high back wooden chairs, or the large leather chesterfield. It was the latter one he indicated.  
  
"That one's more my style." Carlisle looked from one to the other, then seeming to understand Logan's unspoken reluctance he nodded at him.  
  
"Hurry."  
  
Carlisle definitely seemed tense about something, although he held the emotion well in check.  
  
Logan quickly transferred to the couch, not happy to see Carlisle move his wheelchair out to the corridor. As much as he hated having to use it, for the moment he felt like he was losing his best friend.  
  
"Isn't this a deviation from your original plan?" asked Logan cautiously, grunting a little as Carlisle, behind him, was tying his hands together with practiced ease.  
  
He then came around to the front, another piece of rope in his hand, considering Logan's legs thoughtfully.  
  
"That one's redundant." put in Logan, trying to sound as matter-of –fact as possible. Knowing the circulation in his legs was bad enough as it was, the last thing he needed was a tight rope bound around them.  
  
Hesitating for a moment, Carlisle eventually nodded. He looked at Logan for a moment much in the manner of one being pulled away from a fabulous repast.  
  
"Unfortunately I have a small matter to attend to," he said to Logan in a polite manner, "but have no fear, I will return directly. You are, after all, my number one priority."  
  
"I'll try to appreciate the honour," Logan remarked caustically.  
  
Without a backward glance, Carlisle left the room. Logan could hear the key being turned in the lock. Left alone, Logan let a big breath escape, relaxing his shoulders, surprised to find he'd been so tense. He wondered idly what the owner of the chesterfield would say if he saw Logan's wet clothes on his furniture. Logan looked about him again, his mind doing cartwheels – there must be something he could do!  
  
Not able to see his own watch, he searchingly checked out the room for a timepiece. Well, if there was one there, he couldn't see it.  
  
He tried moving his arms slightly. Carlisle had tied the ropes with blood constricting efficiency, and he could feel the numbness beginning to settle in, adding to the discomfort of his soggy clothing. He wondered dismally how he got himself into these messes.  
  
A sound at the door alerted his attention. Damn, could Carlisle be back already? He didn't feel ready for another confrontation with the green-eyed killer, particularly as this could be his last. He hadn't even thought up a plan! What was I thinking sitting here worrying about how comfortable I am, he admonished himself.  
  
In that instant, the double doors burst open with the sound of splintered wood and protesting metal.  
  
"Max!"  
  
With a quick look to ascertain he was alone, she moved over to him with her cat-like nimble grace.  
  
He looked up at her, a smile of relief on his face.  
  
He saw her eyes look him over searchingly, a quick look of relief on her face as well and Logan felt a rush of warmth towards her. It was to be short-lived.  
  
"I thought I told you to stay in the car!" Max snapped at him, quickly untying his hands.  
  
"Well I would have, but Carlisle's gun convinced me to get out!" he retorted.  
  
"And you're all wet," she accused him, as if he'd been doing everything he possibly could to annoy her.  
  
"Well, I have been 'out' admiring the view!" Logan rubbed his wrists, wincing as the blood flooded back into his hands.  
  
"Where's Carlisle?" Max shot at him, retrieving his wheelchair from the hallway.  
  
Watching her returning with it, he shrugged his damp shoulders. "He took a look at the monitors, left me here and ran off on an errand."  
  
"Let's get you out of here.' Max was all business.  
  
Logan was just transferring to his chair when dramatically the lights went out. He sensed rather than saw Max move to his side. Momentarily disorientated, the experience was off-putting to say the least, as he could no longer see to guide his body onto the seat. Sensing his hesitation, Max said quickly, "You're okay," and he allowed his body to drop onto the seat. Slowly his eyes were adjusting to the gloom, and he was just able to make out his legs to put his feet on the footrest when the generator kicked in, and some very low emergency lighting came on.  
  
"Wait here a minute," Max whispered, and ran out the door.  
  
With a quick look up and down the hallway, she ran to the elevator, not believing their luck – the emergency generator was obviously not powerful enough to operate the elevator. She ran back to Logan.  
  
He looked at her, reading the look of dismay on her face.  
  
Trying not to sound too bitter, Logan said, "Well, that makes it interesting, doesn't it?"  
  
"I could carry you," Max suggested tentatively.  
  
"Down a hundred and ten floors? I think not."  
  
"A hundred and nine actually," she corrected him, earning one of 'those' looks.  
  
He looked at Max helplessly for a minute, his mind blank.  
  
"We'll have to hide. It's a large floor. We've got plenty of rooms to choose from." Max spoke confidently.  
  
"Great. Then we just wait to be caught like rats in a trap."  
  
"You got a better idea!" she bit back.  
  
Without a word, Logan began wheeling himself towards the door, Max running to go in front of him to check the hallway. Turning, she motioned for him to follow her.  
  
Logan looked at the rows of doors. This floor was more like a hotel than an office block.  
  
"You have a preference? They all look the same to me." Logan was at his sarcastic best.  
  
"Okay. You don't like this idea – then you come up with a better one!"  
  
Logan looked down at his feet for a moment, but received absolutely no inspiration.  
  
Max suddenly grabbed his arm. "You're right. The rooms are too obvious. We gotta go where he wouldn't expect you to be."  
  
Logan raised his eyebrows at her.  
  
"Just how good is the view?"  
  
Logan stared at her.  
  
Seeing his less than enthusiastic look, she said quickly, "He wouldn't expect you to go out there again."  
  
Logan's mind was working with furious intent. As dire as the situation was, he still balked at the idea of going out on the observation deck again. "What about the stairwell?" he had a flash.  
  
He saw Max looking at him.  
  
"Why would a guy on wheels be in a stairwell?"  
  
"But he'll have to come up the stairs himself."  
  
Logan grimaced. "A minor detail," he said persuasively.  
  
Max answered her own query. "We'll take the one furthest from here. At least we'll be dry," she added.  
  
Without giving Logan a chance to complain, she put her hands on his upper back, and pushed him with a speed he could never manage, down the long hallway to the far stairwell.  
  
******************************************************  
  
Compared to the grandeur of the rest of the floor, the stairwell was very much the poor relation. It consisted of concrete stairs and a plain functional iron railing. They both looked at each other. "At least one of us can get out of here," said Logan, genuinely thankful that Max would have a means of escape.  
  
"You think I'd bail on you?" she asked, the slightest hint of battle in her eyes.  
  
"I expect you to be 'prudent,'" he countered, not altogether at ease with the fact that she was involved in his problem.  
  
"Shhh," she suddenly hissed.  
  
They both froze. Some sort of sound was being carried up the stairwell, but it was too indistinct and muffled to know what it was. The next sound was unmistakable – it was a gunshot. Logan was confused. He knew the gun Carlisle had on him had a silencer. He could have taken it off he realized, but he still had to be firing at someone else.  
  
"Maybe it's the 'matter' Carlisle told me he had to attend to," Logan suggested quietly.  
  
Hearing a loud squeak, Max looked over the railing to see the door of the floor below being opened. Turning to Logan, she put a finger to her lips, and quietly slipped down to the next landing, from there another series of steps would take her to the door of the next floor.  
  
With her back pressed to the wall, she could see a figure dressed in black firing at someone in the hallway. She was about to move forward when the world turned black.  
  
***********************************************  
  
Logan could see Max on the stairwell from where he waited, but not the figure firing from the doorway. Of one thing he was sure – one of them was using a silencer. He wanted to call to Max to tell her to come back, when to his horror he saw her drop to the steps. Frantically rolling himself forward to the landing railing, he looked down to see her land with a quiet thud in front of the landing door below him. Of the man shooting he could see no sign.  
  
"Max! Max!" he called urgently, not daring to raise his voice too loud.  
  
The still form below didn't move.  
  
Only one thing was clear in Logan's mind – he had to get to her. Frantically he considered his options; there didn't appear to be many. His gaze lighted on the railing – it appeared to be the correct height.  
  
Carefully he wheeled as close to the railing at the top of the stairs as he could, then with a deep breath, grabbed hold of the top of the railing, slowly pulling himself up until he was precariously balanced leaning on the railing with his stomach. Making the mistake of looking down, he saw an almost endless swirl of steps descending into an abyss. Quickly closing his eyes, he concentrated on pushing up into a standing position, bracing himself with his arms on the rail. He was immediately aware of two things – his body was incredibly heavy, and the still not healed knife wound did not take kindly to this type of treatment. Ignoring both, he proceeded to slowly inch his hands along the rails, his face already bathed in sweat. He had only one thought in his mind – he had to get to Max.  
  
Max woke with a start. Her first thought was 'Logan.'  
  
With considerable surprise she was looking into his face.  
  
"Logan?" she asked confused, struggling to understand why her head was resting on his lap, and he was looking at her with a worried frown.  
  
"Damn."  
  
"Hey, take it easy," he said in his gentle voice as she tried to sit up.  
  
Max could already feel her body starting to shake off the effects of whatever ailed her.  
  
Her voice sounding stronger already, she asked, "What happened?"  
  
"I'm not entirely sure. I think you were hit with a bullet that ricocheted in the stairwell."  
  
"Where'd the shooter go?"  
  
"I don't think he even knew you were there. He raced out a few seconds after you were hit. Hey, how's your head?"  
  
She put a hand to her temple where she'd been creased. "I'm okay," she answered him, really feeling quite good.  
  
Logan said nothing, looking down at her, her head still resting on his legs. He thought back to the terrifying moment when he'd turned her still frame over, not knowing what he was going to find. The realization hit him that this was a worse fear to face than any of the others Carlisle had manufactured for his edification.  
  
Something of this must have shown on his face. "Logan, I'm really okay," she said quickly to reassure him.  
  
Sitting up, she suddenly looked around in amazement. She knew Logan had been on the floor above. Following her gaze, his voice tight, he said, "Mind bringing that down for me."  
  
Max said nothing, simply getting up and retrieving his chair. Looking at him she frankly wondered if he'd be able to pull himself into it, obviously whatever he'd done to get down to her had taken a lot out of him. With concern she could see blood seeping through his sleeve. Wisely saying nothing, she turned away and cautiously opened the door to peek through. The hallway was deserted. Just in case, she ran across to the elevator to check if it was running again, but disappointingly had no response when she pressed the button.  
  
She came back to find Logan settled in his chair. He looked up at her enquiringly when she returned.  
  
"Still no action on the elevator. No one in the hallway."  
  
"But there is someone in the stairwell," a voice spoke above them.  
  
With a look of chagrin, Logan stared into the face of Vincent Carlisle, the inevitable gun held steadily in his hand.  
  
"Don't move." he suddenly cautioned to Max in a voice that would have stopped the devil himself. "If you look carefully, you'll see the gun is pointed directly at your friend, and I never miss," he added, with that hint of pride again.  
  
"That's right, 'cause you're a 'professional' aren't you?" Logan spoke with cutting cynicism.  
  
Max looked at Logan intently. There was something he hadn't told her.  
  
Carlisle was coming down the steps now. Max thought she saw a flicker of - was it shame - cross his face, but it was gone so quickly she couldn't be sure.  
  
He walked up to Logan and without warning struck him viciously across his face.  
  
"You've cost me precious time," was his idea of an excuse.  
  
Max looked at Carlisle with a look that would kill, but waited patiently. She knew her opportunity would come. Just let Carlisle come within her range ... he'd never have time to pull the trigger.  
  
TBC 


	17. For Bobby

Once again, to all those who've taken the time to review, thanks, thanks, thanks!!!!!!  
  
Chapter 17  
  
Carlisle poked the gun in Logan's back.  
  
He eyed Max warily. "You. Go ahead. Ten paces in front – at all times. You come any closer, I just complete my task that little bit quicker. Not, of course, with quite the panache I'd been hoping for."  
  
Max looked at him with contempt. "Screw your panache!"  
  
"Get going," he merely said, but with those cold eyes staring into hers, he ground the gun hard into Logan's back. Seemingly satisfied with the look he saw in her eyes, he said silkily, "Well?" Without another word, Max walked in front.  
  
Carlisle had her head to the elevator. Taking the same set of keys Logan had seen him with beforehand, he unlocked a small metal door recessed in the wall next to the elevator doors. The door swung open and he inserted another key into a device in the cupboard. Instantly the lights of the elevator flashed on.  
  
Logan watched with dawning understanding. "You turned them off."  
  
"It pays to cover all bases."  
  
Max was itching to whack the conceited smile off his face. In the elevator, Max was made to stand with her face to the wall, Carlisle's gun unwaveringly aimed at Logan's back.  
  
With a sense of déjà vu, Carlisle led them back into the mahogany desk room, directing Max to stand behind the desk, while he and Logan stayed the other side of it.  
  
"You're particularly beautiful, but then the most dangerous things always are. I know a lot of men who would have paid millions for a bodyguard like you," Carlisle said seriously.  
  
Max and Logan spoke as one: "I'm not his/She's not my bodyguard."  
  
Carlisle eyed them with his version of a smile. It made Max feel ill. "Ahh, I beg your pardon. Girlfriend then."  
  
Turning slightly to look over his shoulder, Logan rapped out "It's none of your damned business 'who' she is."  
  
Max could see the ugly look on Carlisle's face - the effect of Logan's words. 'Shut your mouth,' she begged him silently. Then in her own mind to Carlisle –'One more 'poke' at him and you're dead!'  
  
Something made Carlisle look at her in that very moment. So surprised by the deadly intent on her face, he forgot whatever flash of anger he had been going to direct at Logan, his look turning to one of admiration. "An adversary is always far more dangerous when the heart is involved."  
  
"Shut up!" Max literally snarled at him.  
  
"As you like, " responded Carlisle unperturbed. "Though there does seem to be a certain amount of ambivalence ... "  
  
"You heard her Carlisle," cut in Logan. It was bad enough the man wanted to kill him, let alone discuss his private life.  
  
"Very well," replied Carlisle, at his most urbane. "Of course, her being here causes a problem."  
  
Logan looked at him searchingly. He had known Carlisle would take this line, but hearing it put into words made his fear take form. "She knows nothing about this," Logan said quickly, a note of urgency in his voice. "Why don't you just let her go?"  
  
"Logan!" Max did not appear to be grateful.  
  
They looked at each other, both equally determined.  
  
Looking around, Carlisle saw the doors were still wide open. Not willing to leave Logan alone, he motioned to him to go over and close them, while he followed, careful to let Max see the ever- present gun in Logan's back.  
  
"Pity," Carlisle commented with a pained expression as he regarded the mess Max had made of the magnificent doors.  
  
Logan remarked as he leaned forward to close them, "Vernon Taylor won't be around to worry about them."  
  
"This wasn't Vernon Taylor's office. It was mine," Carlisle said softly.  
  
"I'm impressed," said Logan in a voice that said he was anything but impressed. "So this was the fruit of your labour. Was it worth it?" asked Logan looking around. He then suddenly spun his chair around and looked directly up at Carlisle. "Was it worth your brother's life?"  
  
Max watched fascinated to see the colour literally drain from Carlisle's face.  
  
"You said Carlisle here was 'a professional' Max. You were right. He was Vernon Taylor's right hand man." Logan paused for a moment. "He was his 'hit' man."  
  
It was as though they were all frozen by Logan's words. Max however had little thought to admire his eloquence –her gaze was riveted on Carlisle. She was waiting for her chance.  
  
"Only problem was," and Logan leaned back in his chair, now that the gun no longer stuck into him, "He put a hit out on 'your' brother."  
  
Max was startled at this news, her own eyes going to Logan.  
  
The green eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing.  
  
Logan pressed home his advantage. "You're nothing but a paid executioner." Then he added softly, "You killed Bobby."  
  
Max watched Carlisle who stood like Lot's wife, his face frozen in a memory of his appalling deed.  
  
Logan regarded him with disgust. "I was right - this is about your own conscience."  
  
Carlisle regained some of his wits like a man emerging from an impenetrable fog. All vestige of emotion had fled his voice. He spoke like a dead man, and Max knew dead men with nothing to lose, were unpredictable whackos.  
  
"I told Bobby to drop the rally. I warned him it would cost him his life."  
  
"But you also had to cover up your own mistake of letting that information slip into the wrong hands." Logan looked down at his legs, remembering Carlisle's earlier analogy. "I take it Vernon Taylor was neither forgiving nor family-minded."  
  
Carlisle spoke as if he hadn't heard. "He told me it was too late. The article - your article," and he looked at Logan accusingly, "was already published, and everyone was now expecting his speech at the rally."  
  
Max cut in hotly, "It wasn't Logan's article. He simply wrote what your brother wanted."  
  
"How did he die Carlisle? Was he afraid like all the others?" Logan pursued relentlessly.  
  
"He died pleading for your life as a matter of fact. Taylor wanted you dead as well. Bobby convinced me you knew nothing." Now it was Logan's turn to be surprised.  
  
For the first time, Vincent Carlisle spoke with emotion. "Do you know what it's like to have to choose between your own life or your brother's?"  
  
"Maybe not, I just know what choice I ' wouldn't' make. You killed Bobby to save your own skin!" Max watched Logan speak with that same intensity he used when he was addressing one of his 'causes.'  
  
"This is 'so' not the time Logan," she muttered  
  
Carlisle seemed to utter something unintelligible, when suddenly he broke and with almost a primeval sound in his throat, rushed at Logan, pushing the gun hard against his neck, his other hand clutching Logan's sweater at his throat.  
  
Max leapt the desk, crossing the distance between her and Carlisle virtually in a single leap. The hit man seemed to have lost his 'professional' edge – disregarding the gun, it appeared his one thought was to choke the life out of Logan.  
  
Logan had his hands up, fighting him off, but Carlisle was fighting with the strength of the insane.  
  
With incredible force, Max leapt, then at the last moment kicked out with her feet so that they connected with Vincent Carlisle. With great satisfaction she watched him fly across the other side of the room, she presumed momentarily knocked out, because he failed to get up. Maybe he was dead. You could only hope.  
  
She took a quick look at Logan, who was whooping in big draughts of air with relief. He managed to nod at her when he saw her enquiring look.  
  
Max went across to check on Carlisle, who was showing signs of movement. His gun had fallen more or less at his feet, and she kicked it away with a vengeance. Her first instinct was to pick him up and sling him through one of the huge picture windows that graced the room, but regretfully she figured Logan would have something to say about that.  
  
As if reading her thoughts, Logan wheeled over to her, looking down at the man who'd been so determined to kill him for a death he was not responsible for. "What'll we do with him?" asked Logan, with a certain amount of distaste in his voice. They both regarded Carlisle as some unwanted vermin the cat had dragged in.  
  
"I think I can help you in that department," a deep voice said from the doorway.  
  
With considerable surprise, they both looked up to see a figure dressed in black at the doorway, sartorially outfitted with a black gun to match his clothes.  
  
Logan cast a quick glimpse up at Max. "And things had been going so well too," he murmured.  
  
Max considered the situation quickly. The visitor was too far away for her to reach him before he'd have a chance to fire a shot, even with her incredible speed, and she wasn't prepared to risk Logan being shot by a stray bullet.  
  
"Haven't we just been through this all ready?" she asked Logan in frustration.  
  
"Well, this is slightly different. If my guess is right, here we have the 'hit man' to kill the 'hit man.' Confused?" he asked her brightly.  
  
Max figured he'd been unhinged by lack of air to his brain when Carlisle had tried to choke the life out of him, and she gave him a look accordingly.  
  
Carlisle meanwhile, was beginning to regain consciousness.  
  
The man in black motioned to Max. "You, go and stand near him," meaning Logan. Logan wondered how this new turn of events could help them. They now had two hit men wanting to kill them.  
  
"Vandenberg," Carlisle croaked out.  
  
"I had no idea you were entertaining. Have I interrupted something?"  
  
"That's okay, we were just leaving anyway," Max excused themselves.  
  
"Cute. But, I don't think so." Then to Carlisle he said, "Martin Taylor is rather upset about the untimely death of his father."  
  
"His father would have been dead years ago if it wasn't for me." Carlisle stood up groggily as he spoke, moving closer to Max and Logan.  
  
Max watched Vandenberg closely. Unlike Carlisle whose eyes revealed him to be the very antitheses of all that was good, the former hit man was quite good looking in an unassuming kind of way. The sort of man you might sit opposite on a bus and assume somewhere in his life there was a wife and two kids. For all that, Max didn't trust him any more than she did Carlisle: same books, just different covers.  
  
"That's true," agreed Vandenberg. "But I'd say in one deed you've undone the other good ones. There's something so final about a car full of C4 blowing up in your face. Let's put an end to this, shall we? It looks like it's three for the price of one."  
  
Max was still watching Vandenberg closely; too late she saw his hand come up slightly. Without warning he fired the black gun in his hand – his first shot was directed at Logan.  
  
Max was already diving at Vandenberg, but a voice was screaming in her head, "Too late, too late."  
  
Vandenberg had barely time to look up before the fury of hell descended on him. His arm snapped with a sickening crunch, his gun falling from fingers suddenly unable to hold it. He then found himself driven back against the wall, his head snapped back with the force of the blow to his face. He felt rather than saw the two hands grabbing his neck, and when he did open his eyes all he saw were two dark pools of fury burning him with their intensity. His head did a great deal of damage to the imported wood paneling that adorned the walls. Vandenberg was unconscious after the first blow; by the third he was dead.  
  
"Max. Max."  
  
She turned around stunned.  
  
"I need your help."  
  
For a moment Max couldn't process what she saw. She knew she'd been too late. For all her watchfulness she'd been too late.  
  
"Logan?"  
  
But there he was, unharmed, trying to press his hand to the wound in Carlisle's right shoulder.  
  
He looked up at her in that moment and for a fleeting moment she had the urge to run to him and throw her arms around his strong shoulders. Swallowing her emotion she walked over to him in an almost detached manner and checked out Carlisle. The bullet had gone through his shoulder, but didn't appear to have done any major damage.  
  
"You'll live." She didn't know whether to be sorry or glad. In silence she helped him sit on the chesterfield. "Hold your hand to it," she said roughly, making no attempt to find a bandage.  
  
"What's your game Carlisle? That bullet was meant for me." Logan was struggling to understand what had just gone down.  
  
Carlisle looked at him. He spoke in the manner of one who was very, very tired. "You asked me in the car, why did I wait ten years. Fear," he stated simply.  
  
Logan looked at him questioningly.  
  
"I had to blame someone for Bobby's death. I've killed so many people; my conscience stopped working years ago. I had no trouble blaming you." He looked at Logan for a moment. "Trouble was, Bobby died pleading for you; he told me you knew nothing." With a bitter laugh he added, "Still, it's been easy all these years to blame you for writing the article."  
  
Speaking to the floor now, his tone reflecting shame, guilt, remorse and who knows what else thought Max as she listened to him, he said, "It took me ten years to work up the courage to go against my own brother's dying wish. It was easier to work my way up to you, so I killed Kransky and the others, then Vernon Taylor," he almost spat the name out, "then I had my plans for you."  
  
"So what happened?" Logan asked curiously.  
  
"Something Vandenberg said I guess."  
  
Logan nodded in sudden comprehension. "One bad deed undid the good ones."  
  
"Maybe Bobby hadn't given up on me after all," Carlisle said enigmatically.  
  
Max looked at Logan, her expression softening. "One good deed to make up for all the bad."  
  
Logan thought he saw something in her eyes.  
  
"I still have one more thing to do," Carlisle said, watching Logan closely.  
  
"Haven't you done enough all ready?" Max's voice was hard.  
  
Carlisle continued to look at Logan.  
  
Max saw Logan's eyes narrow slightly, then he bit his lip and turned away from the other man's gaze.  
  
"For Bobby," whispered Carlisle.  
  
Logan's eyes briefly flickered to Carlisle's gun, still lying where Max had kicked it.  
  
"Let's get outta here Max," he said suddenly, spinning his chair around and pushing himself forward in an almost angry manner.  
  
Max looked expressionlessly from Logan to Carlisle, and then turned to follow Logan from the room.  
  
They'd barely passed through the once magnificent double doors before the silence was broken with a single sound.  
  
Neither one turned back.  
  
TBC 


	18. Epilogue

Well, I had to have an epilogue. Here it is.  
  
Epilogue.  
  
It didn't always rain in Seattle. Some evenings were still and calm.  
  
No wind stirred the leaves and dust high into the air. It was sparkling clear after the earlier storm, the lights to be seen in the other buildings burning bright and clear like friendly sentinels.  
  
Logan sat by the window. Alone. Feeling numb.  
  
A call to Matt Sung after the short trip back to Fogle Towers had cleared up the mess in the Jupiter Building, and he'd had Matt retrieve his gun and cell phone, with an arrangement to meet him the next day and pick them up.  
  
Max had gone home to show Kendra and Original Cindy she was okay - apparently they'd called Logan's a few times worrying about her Bling had said.  
  
Bling had done quite a bit of worrying himself.  
  
He'd redressed Logan's arm after he'd showered, making dire threats about needing to have it re-stitched.  
  
Logan had sent him home.  
  
It felt strange to be alone in the apartment for the first time in a few days, with no hint of danger hanging threateningly in the air.  
  
He sighed deeply.  
  
What could make two brothers so different? Same parents, same house, same chances, but ultimately, different choices.  
  
The age-old question - why choose evil, why choose good?  
  
Logan didn't have the answer. He just new that something inside himself drove him to always to choose light rather than dark.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Not bothering to spin around, he smiled nonetheless. "Hey yourself."  
  
Max sat on the arm of the sofa, watching him for a moment.  
  
Eventually, feeling her gaze he looked up.  
  
"How's your arm? I thought you'd need to get it fixed again."  
  
"Bling said something like that," he acknowledged. Then with a half-smile, "I ignored him."  
  
After another pause, a slight hesitation in her voice, she asked, "Are you okay with everything that went down tonight?"  
  
He didn't answer her immediately. Finally, trying to make his voice as normal as possible, he admitted, "Not really."  
  
Max watched his eyes. They were troubled, distant.  
  
Eventually he turned to look at her. "It's kinda scary ... "  
  
She waited for him to continue.  
  
"You know, you do something, say something dumb, ten years later it comes back to kick you in the face."  
  
"Just as well we can't see into the future." She risked a small smile.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The eyes were serious now, but not unhappy. Suddenly she saw them narrow slightly, and he turned to look at her suspiciously. "Do you know what a tracking device was doing in my car this afternoon?"  
  
"Tracking, I s'pose," she replied coolly.  
  
"Oh, I see." Logan nodded thoughtfully.  
  
"They do that you know," added Max helpfully.  
  
"Funny, they don't usually turn up in people's car all by themselves."  
  
"I might have put one there ... in a moment of weakness," admitted Max vaguely.  
  
"Well, I gotta say, to 'whoever' put one there," and he paused looking at her, "you probably got it straight."  
  
"Pity Carlisle was on to it," Max responded without thinking.  
  
"So you 'do' admit your guilt." There was a hint of triumph in his voice.  
  
"Well, a girl's gotta know where her meal ticket is."  
  
Logan looked at her. There was a time when that comment would have hurt, but not tonight - tonight he'd caught 'that' look in her eyes.  
  
Unexpectedly he smiled at her. His wide, generous, 'no–troubles-of-the- world-on-me' smile.  
  
"Yep,' thought Max, 'some days turned out to be positively peachy.'  
  
The End.  
  
Thanks everyone for reading. Hope you enjoyed it. I'd LOVE to hear what you think, so please R&R. I'd really appreciate it. Much thanks!! 


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